


Prompt Event Collection

by snowyfoxpaws



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:03:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 42,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1509776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowyfoxpaws/pseuds/snowyfoxpaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small gathering of all the filled prompts from my tumblr. USUK, UKUS, USUKUS, CanAme...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. USUK Angel!Arthur

**Author's Note:**

> To explain, for fun I ran a small event on [my tumblr](http://snowyfoxpaws.tumblr.com/). Anyone could submit a prompt and I would fill it. This is the archiving of those filled prompts. Considering that I'm nearly certain I'll do this again someday, this will be where I store said short stories in the future.
> 
> Easter Prompt 1/11: "Sappy Drama Angel Arthur and Human/ Nation Alfred or whatever as long as its Alfred desu pleasu :DD -thecrazygirlwhodraws"

"Alfred, you  _knew_  I couldn't stay here…”

The man looked down at his palms for a moment before they clenched into fists. It didn't stop the shaking. “It’s too soon. I thought I had more time.”

"We never have enough time, love. You found that out the first time I died." The angel reached out to run translucent fingers over the nation’s cheek from where he sat perched on the windowsill. America would have tried to hug him, but he knew it would be in vain. He had already tried countless times before.

"But—," Alfred’s voice cracked but he had to soldier on. Time was slipping away. Every moment that passed increased the transparency of the figure in front of him. "We finally figured things out!" He was so close to crying that it was  _painful_  but he kept trying to blink back tears even as the angel watched him with a soft, fond expression. “You can’t go now!”

"I have to. I told you—,"

“ _I know_ , but—!” America _did_  reach out this time, but his fingers met cold, empty air. That didn't stop him from trying, however, as he attempted to grasp at the figure of England, leaning slightly into the breeze provided by the open window. “We finally… I finally…”

They had confessed to each other. Was this closure?

That was impossible. Closure was supposed to be a satisfying feeling, wasn’t it? An acceptance of the end. Something final. It was reaching the last page of a book. It was seeing the credits roll at the end of a movie.

It wasn’t this. It wasn’t whatever  _this_  was.

Those brilliant green eyes turned sorrowful, “America…” He said. He sounded so faraway now.

"Please—  _Please_ ,  _just_ —”

"I’m sorry."

Only the faintest glimmer of the angel remained. America tried to snatch the light, a desperate surge of urgency flooding his body as he jerked forward. If only he could stop him. If only he could just grab that thin, ethereal wrist—

Instead, America fell out of the second story window.


	2. NONE Father!Arthur and Son!Alfred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easter Prompt 2/11: "Modern day human AU, Daddy!England and child!America, celebrating Easter. -jessiesnoww"

"What are you doing?"

Alfred looked up, a grin spread wide across his face. “I’m gonna catch the Easter bunny!” He said proudly.

Arthur studied the trap his son was constructing. It was simple structure—a box with one edge perched precariously on a stick, a colorful length of yarn attached only a few meters in length. Inside the trap was a sealed bag of small carrots from the refrigerator.

He was certain that his son had learned this from some cartoon or another, but as he knelt he couldn’t find it within himself to point out the fatal flaws in all of it. The child was six. The darling had a right to dream.

"Wow, this is really impressive." He said, ruffling Alfred’s hair much to the boy’s open annoyance, but today was a day for chocolate and candy and eggs and it appeared even mussed hair couldn’t dampen that broad smile.

"Isn’t it!"

"What will you do once you catch him?" Arthur asked, wishing he had a camera. Maybe if he was quick he could retrieve one, but for the moment he wanted to be  _in_  this experience, not just the one capturing it on film.

It appeared that Alfred had to think about that as he tilted his head. It was only mid-morning and the boy’s knees were already grass-stained and there was dirt on his fingers. Arthur could only imagine it would be worse once Francis brought Matthew around.

Finally the boy settled on, “I wanna be his friend.”

Arthur blinked. “His friend? Can’t you be his friend without putting him in a box?”

"No, no, see—," Alfred stood, but even then he was only slightly taller than Arthur kneeling, so the father stayed down at his level, watching as his son began to gesture with his hands. "The Easter bunny delivers so much stuff, right, and he’s so fast because he’s busy but…"

"Yes?"

Alfred’s expression turned sad and serious. “He doesn’t have time to stop and make friends and… and I realized— what if he’s  _so busy_  he doesn’t  _have_  any!”

"I see." Arthur said, nodding. He waited for Alfred to continue, so Alfred did.

"And— and he’s just making things all year and he works too hard—," those bright blue eyes looked at him, "just like you, dad."

Oh.

_Oh._

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat. “So you wanted to… make him stop for a moment so you could… befriend him? Because he, ah… he’s always so busy that he doesn’t stop to make any for himself?”

His son nodded enthusiastically. “Yup!”

Bless this little child. Arthur felt his throat constrict slightly and he tugged the boy into a hug, much to Alfred’s surprise.

His son was quick to return the hug however— he always was. Yet there was something subdued in his voice when he suddenly issued a soft, “Dad?”

"Mm?" Arthur didn’t trust his words not to give away his sentiment right now.

"Do you think it’ll work?"

He laughed slightly, squeezing Alfred before pulling away to look at his face. “I daresay you’re already the Easter bunny’s friend, whether he knows it or not.”

At the end of the day, the trap failed to catch anything more than empty air.

Yet his son seemed to be in good spirits regardless.


	3. USUK Cowboy!Alfred and Equestrian!Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easter Prompt 3/11: "Could you do a quick drabble with cowboy!America and equestrian!England riding horses? I have no preferences as to whether it's AU or nation-canon. -vow-anon"
> 
> They didn't actually end up riding the horses, but there were horses! uwu

It all started with a stable.

No one knew how, or why, but when Arthur’s prized Thoroughbred Elizabeth was suddenly impregnated by one of the stable’s other horses he was absolutely _livid_.

"She’s supposed to be performing in a show in two months!" He had told the stable-owner, who looked not only ashamed and apologetic but terrified. This was a black mark and if Arthur made a fuss he could ensure this establishment never receive another show horse again. You just didn’t let a  _mare in heat_  wander around a mess of other horses like that. You just _didn’t_.

He’d marked it on her calender and everything!

"I’m so sorry— we’ll compensate you— a full refund of your time here—,"

Arthur just walked away, disgusted.

He paused in front of Elizabeth, the horse’s tan snout poking out from the bars of her stall. “Oh, don’t look so proud of yourself.” He told her. She retracted her head and shook it, making a snuffing noise. He snorted at her. “Yes, yes, you’re gone and done it now, haven’t you?” She’d always been a bit of a trouble-maker, but she was a good horse. Stubborn, but still a good horse.

And her genetics were _impeccable_  which was why it was so frustrating that some random had gone and impregnated her. It marred her breeding history, if nothing else…

Now she would be unable to perform adequately in any show for the next  _year_. And that wasn’t including birth. And, lord, he’d never wanted to breed her this early because he found it terrible to take a mother away from its foal early and…

And…

Arthur frowned at the horse, but he pulled a carrot out of his pack and offered it to her. Elizabeth gladly accepted it. “Well at least you’re happy.” He said dryly.

"So that’s the one Hero knocked up, huh?" Exclaimed a loud voice, and Arthur jerked around to see a man standing just behind him.

His appearance was almost laughable. From his boots to his hat he looked like he had stepped out of a bad Western film. Arthur would have laughed in his face if it weren’t for the comment still ringing loudly in his ears.

“‘Hero’?” He repeated. He only vaguely recalled a tag with such an absurd name on it.

The man jerked his thumb to the stall next to Elizabeth’s.

The sign read ‘Hero’ in bright red, white, and blue font, scribbled wildly in dry erase marker on the board. Ah. No wonder he had tried to purge that from his memory.

And then his gaze slid up to the stall. The white American Quarter Horse stared back at him from behind the bars. Some would argue that there was no difference these days between a Quarter Horse and a Thoroughbred. Arthur would beg to differ.

“ _Brilliant_.” He said caustically, turning his gaze back to Elizabeth’s chestnut brown eyes.

"I think it’s kinda cute." Remarked the man, leaning up against the mare’s stall a little  _too_  close to him for Arthur’s comfort.

"Well you would, wouldn’t you? Yours is not the one pregnant. Yours is a working horse." It was a guess, but he knew it was right when the other man nodded.

"True, true…" He smiled at him. "My name’s Alfred, by the way. What’s yours?"

"Arthur." He replied blandly, shaking the hand that the other man had extended.

"Alright, see… Here’s the thing, Arthur. I’m really sorry about this and I wanna take responsibility for it."

Arthur sniffed. “That’s rather noble of you.” It wasn’t Alfred’s fault this had happened after all.

"Yeah, well." The blue-eyed man rolled his shoulders in a shrug and Arthur thought, for not the first time, that his felt Cowboy hat looked ludicrous. "Anyway, let’s talk this over a bit. Coffee?"

"I don’t drink coffee." Arthur quipped, although that said nothing about whether or not he was accepting the invitation. He would like to see Hero’s papers after all, if possible, and Alfred seemed more than willing to compensate for the damages to his show horse.

"Alright then, we’ll get whatever you want." Alfred said, gesturing for him to follow. Arthur did, if only because he felt he had no choice in the matter.

He noticed not as Alfred flashed Hero a triumphant look.

He knew not that the American had been watching him for the past few months, dreading his return to England, which was marked neatly in crisp pen on the calender hanging from Elizabeth’s stall door.

He was completely unaware that the man had thought to himself a few days prior,  _'His ass looks too good in riding pants to just go back and waste that overseas.'_  as he covertly led the two horses to a nice, quiet, out of the way pen…

Well, that was until it all came out five years later, during their honeymoon.

Arthur had been  _furious_.

But it was  _so_  worth it.


	4. USUK Making Out During a Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easter Prompt 4/11: "Canonverse, lots of UST. One day they finally snap during an argument and start trying to have at it until they realize they're still in the middle of a world meeting. -mayugehero"

America and England were fighting.

Again.

This was a fairly normal state of affairs, really. It was more worrisome when they _didn’t_  fight. Yet, despite that, it didn’t change the fact that every time they butted heads it brought the entire conference to a literally screeching halt.

Some listened. Some didn’t. It was the same song and dance it had always been.

"My idea is fantastic! Why do you always find reason to be so disagreeable?"

"Fantastic? Ha! I already told you mine and it’s basically a better version of yours!"

"That’s bollocks and you know it!"

And then there was a subtle shift. America’s face was suddenly less cheerfully mocking and England’s open anger was cementing into something sharp and solid. They stared at each other.

America was the first to speak, “You’re just mad I made your plan better.” He growled, stepping up to him. They were a meter apart.

England gave a dignified snort, shaking his head. “Your plan is nothing like mine. You’re dooming us all to financial ruin.”

"I am not!" America bit back.

"Then what? You’re just an idiot!?" England challenged.

They were practically nose to nose now.

America’s hand fisted itself in the other nation’s collar and some of the nearer countries looked nervous at the prospect of physical violence. “You always fucking call me that! Maybe  _you’re_  the idiot!”

England’s hand was over America’s own, as though trying to free himself from the other nation’s grasp although he looked more concerned with offering the taller man his best glare. “Well you  _would_  think that, since you’re an idiot!” England growled loudly. “I swear, you haven’t even got  _one intelligent thought_  in that empty head of  _mmf—_!”

Somehow the heated moment shattered, like glass risen to too high of a temperature, and America’s lips were suddenly on England’s with a desperate urgency.

England groaned into the kiss, his body wholly compliant with the demand as America’s tongue dominated his mouth, one hand roughly grabbing the back of his head while the other squeezed his arse. He felt his thigh hit the table and then, suddenly, he fell back atop it, America’s body flush against his own.

"I can’t wait, England—," The voice was a needy rasp, quiet but thick with meaning. America had breathed those words right into the European nation’s ear and England could feel a hand undoing his belt.

He squirmed slightly. “ _Okay_ —” He gasped as those lips nipped his neck. “ _Okay_ —,”

And then there was cold water tumbling down atop both of them and England sputtered as the onslaught traveled down America’s head and hit him in the face.

America looking around as though he hadn’t the slightest where he was and England up at America with a foggy sense that something was off.

When they realized what had happened, they both flushed a deep red— England more so because his cock was hard and hanging halfway out of his trousers.

Germany gave a discrete cough, lowering the pitcher he had dumped on them. “I’m calling a recess.” He told the assembly without explanation. No explanation was  _needed_.

And then the room broke out into a chaos of excited noise as America and England fled the room, too humiliated to even defend themselves from the cheers and catcalls.

That didn’t stop them from continuing things later that night in the hotel room, however.


	5. USUK Sick!England

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easter Prompt 5/11: "Sick!England and America taking care of him in a tender manner. (With a surprised!England as well. XD) -empressvegah"

Being sick was literally one of the  _worst_  things.

Call England melodramatic, but it didn’t change the fact that when he was sick it felt like everything had come to a complete stop. His weather became _even more_  wonky than usual— rain one moment, sun the next, and it was such a sudden shift that it left even _his_  head reeling. Worse, he couldn’t work, he couldn’t breathe through his nose, and his ability to concentrate was so far gone that even simple television was beyond him.

He was miserable, snuffling, and alone.

And then America had shown up.

Moreover, America had shown up with a container of chicken noodle soup and had pushed him back into bed and had taken his temperature and had tucked him in and had told him he would take care of everything so don’t even worry one little bit.

England had never hallucinated while sick before. It was fairly novel.

And  _vivid_. He really could  _almost_  believe that it was America softly pressing a wet cloth to his head.

"You’re burning up." The image said and when England looked up at him his vision swam with the sight of deep blue. It took him a moment to realize that they were eyes.

“ _You’re_  burning up.” England challenged childishly. It didn’t make any sense. He hadn’t meant for it to.

America raised a brow at him. “Fuck, you’re out of it, aren’t you? You haven’t even called me an idiot yet.”

England wasn’t sure what to say to that. He didn’t  _feel_  like calling the hallucination an idiot. Wasn’t that akin to insulting himself if this America were just a figment of his imagination? Then again, if he  _had_  to conjure an America, he would probably design him as the very definition of an idiot. It was only accurate, after all.

"Why are you here?" England asked him suddenly, not even sure why those words had left his mouth.

The other nation just stared at him, looking wry. “You’ve asked me that  _four times already_ , Arthur.” When England looked at him blankly, America sighed. “You stopped answering your phone and email. France was one second away from coming over here himself, but I beat him to it.” It didn’t even look like the nation was talking to England anymore as he took the wash cloth, dipped it in a basin, and wrung it out before dabbing at his forehead again.

England sighed happily at the feeling of coolness against his heated skin.

A few moments passed. “Good thing I came, too…” America said to deaf ears. He knew England wasn’t listening anymore. He wasn’t even sure England was  _awake_.

Coming here to find him collapsed in his hallway had left a thick wedge in America’s chest.

He brushed the other nation’s wet bangs out of his eyes. There was no movement. The Englishman didn’t stir.

“ _Ask_  next time you need help…”

He knew England wouldn’t.

That’s why he had to always be there for him, whether he wanted him to be or not.


	6. USUK Omegaverse Cardverse Courting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easter Prompt 6/11: “USUK omegaverse cardverse courting. -Fanmail Anon 1”

The problem with being the King and Queen of Spades was that the title was thrust upon you suddenly and with no small amount of fanfare. You simply weren’t allowed time to get your head around it.

It was the first night they had shared a bed together because it was the first night after the Queen had been located and, naturally, they were already expected to act like the couple that they were.

Except that they scarcely knew each other.

There was an uncomfortable, awkward silence as they both lay there, neither knowing what to say.

Alfred turned over, but when he did he was startled to find Arthur facing him. He swallowed as the omega’s green eyes reflected light from a lantern they’d been too hesitant to snuff out. “Sorry, I’ll just, um—,” He began to turn over onto his other side.

"Wait." The Queen spoke and he felt compelled to listen, turning back to face him. Arthur hesitated before, "Are we not to consummate our marriage?"

Alfred stared at him, feeling his face go red. “Oh, um…” He bit his lip and fiddled with the bedding. “We haven’t even courted yet, it just feels improper to—,”

"Oh." The sound of Arthur’s voice always gave him pause. He wasn’t sure whether it was because he was an omega or his Queen. "You are actually going to court me properly?"

"Of course!" Alfred looked at him, appalled. "What kind of brute did you take me for?"

He did a double take as Arthur’s expression turned disappointed.

"Wait, did you— you actually  _wanted_  to—,”

The Queen glowered at him. “I am in a bed that stinks of you. I don’t know what to think!”

Ah, that was true. The scent of alpha must have been incredibly strong here. He knew if he were in a bed that smelled of Arthur it would be hard for him to think too. “I understand, it’s just— What kind of person do you think I  _am_?”

Arthur pressed the side of his face into the pillow, looking at nothing. “I don’t know. What kind of person  _are_  you?”

The King huffed. “I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

"… Why not? No one would stop you…"

Alfred paused and peered over at his Queen. There was a faint flush on the omega’s face. “Oh. My.  _Gods_.” He breathed. “You  _want_  me to sleep with you!”

Arthur jerked up into a sitting position, scowling darkly, “I was told we would be consummating our marriage! It’s not my fault I had the wrong expectations! I’m going to sleep! Goodnight!” And with that the omega flopped over onto his other side with a whumph.

The King stared at his Queen’s back for a long moment before exhaling a laugh. Shifting over to the other side of the bed, he curled up behind his newly betrothed.

He nibbled at the side of his neck and the omega made a nice little noise at that, like a soft gasp. “You’re an odd one…” He murmured, already feeling the alpha in him coming to the forefront as Arthur’s scent filled his senses.

"Shut up!"

Alfred laughed. “I’ll indulge you tonight, my Queen, but I want to court you properly in the morning…” He told him. The alpha took the omega’s silence as agreement.

It was only the first of many oddities he would soon come to learn about his Queen— the fact that Arthur didn’t want sweet words and soft caresses…

No, he wanted to be devoured whole.


	7. USUK Omegaverse Rival Nobles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easter Prompt 7/11: "USUK or UKUS. Alfred and Arthur as rival nobles + Omegaverse. -mayumisatosan"

Alfred stared at the omega with open disdain. Arthur stared back with disgust. This continued for some time until one of the servants politely cleared her throat and said, “More tea?”

Arthur. “Yes.”

"No." Alfred.

They scowled at each other. The servant looked torn so she filled only Arthur’s cup, which was just as well because Alfred’s was untouched.

"Leave us." Alfred commanded her and she did. The sitting room fell into tense silence.

Arthur picked up his cup and took a delicate sip, his eyes never leaving Alfred’s as he gazed at him from over the rim. Then he put the piece of porcelain down and, just as he had predicted, Alfred spoke:

"Drop out of the tournament."

Arthur leveled Alfred with an unimpressed look. “No.” And then, “If that’s all you have come here to say, then leave.”

"It’s complete shit letting an omega in and you know it." Alfred said and Arthur could smell the alpha’s irritation all the way from across the elegant spread on the table.

"Why, my dear? Afraid you will lose?" Arthur had bested him at fencing and archery from a young age. It just wasn’t in Alfred to focus on honing his finer movements. The alpha was all brute force.

Alfred growled a stern, “No!” that Arthur liked to think meant yes.

The omega’s lips curled. “You are unhappy.” He noted, pleased. “Did you want to win?”

"No." Alfred said shortly. "I wanted to prevent others from winning."

"You lie."

"I do not."

Arthur smiled at him. “The prize is my own hand in marriage. You would not be so upset at the prospect of  _me_  winning it unless…” He let his words trail off, but they were there in the air. They could both feel it.

Alfred didn’t have a response for that.

His scent, however, said everything.

 _Concern, envy, anxiousness, internal conflict_ …

That’s how it had always been. Their words bit like blades but they were honest in the most silent and delicate of mediums.

Arthur took a sip of tea.

Maybe some day that silence would be broken, but it was not this day.


	8. UKUS Foxes in the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easter Prompt 8/11: "UKUS, in the snow, AU where they're both kitsune or fox-shapeshifters or plain foxes. -m-tag"

"You look ridiculous." Arthur commented idly, exhaling a soft laugh.

Alfred wriggled and looked up at him. He was in human form, his elegant robes matted to his body due to the snow he was sweeping back with his arms and legs. “I saw some humans do this!” He said by way of explanation.

Arthur’s tails twitched as he languidly watched the other, not bothering to shift from his comfortable, fur-coated fox form. Human skin always let in too much of a chill during this season. “ _Please_.” He began. “Please don’t do everything the humans do. You’ll be the death of me.”

The other kitsune rolled his eyes. “I just wanted to try this _one_  thing. Geez.” He pulled himself up and gestured at the body-shaped indentation in the snow. “It’s a snow angel!” He announced, looking quite proud of himself.

Arthur stared at it. Alfred’s ears had made the shape of horns atop the figure’s head. He bit his lip. ”… I see.”

It wasn’t his place to correct him. Alfred was still young, only bearing two tails while Arthur had a nice, even six. He was, as far as Arthur was concerned, a pup.

Although Alfred didn’t see it that way as he bounded over and grabbed Arthur’s paws with his hands. “You should change into your human form too!” He said, dragging him along.

Arthur had no choice seeing as it was awkward to be led like that as a fox. He made a face as the cold seeped into his robes. He hated not having fur. Alfred nuzzled his face though and licked his cheek and Arthur felt some of that irritation dissolve much to his chagrin.

"See, it’s not so bad." Alfred said, knowing his stance on the whole matter.

Arthur rolled his eyes, letting his hands snag Alfred’s waist as he pulled them flush together…

… and then nipped his nose.

Alfred squawked slightly and tried to pull away but Arthur held him firm. “Why did you drag me into this form?”

"I wanted you to make an angel too."

"No you didn’t." Arthur said easily. "You know I wouldn’t partake in something so foolish."

Alfred squirmed. “Is it foolish?”

“ _Alfred_ …”

"Well, is it?"

He sighed. “How is it  _not?_ " The snow was starting to fall again and he made a displeased noise as the frozen water landed on the back of his neck.

Alfred was looking at the so-called angel made of snow. “I dunno. I guess I just thought it’d be nice to be an angel with you.”

Arthur frowned. “Is it not nice to be a kitsune with me?”

"Well, I guess… I don’t know." He leaned against Arthur as though to shield himself from the sudden cold. The snow was falling heavier now. It really would be more convenient if they changed back. "A lot of the older ones—ones like  _you_ —are all really old-fashioned. Tricking humans and seeking vengeance for transgressions and I don’t— I just can’t—… I’m not  _like that_.”

"I know." Arthur said smoothly. "No one is asking you to be."

"Yes they are, they’re just really sneaky about it." The younger kitsune pouted. "So sneaky even  _you_  don’t hear them.” He paused. “But I do. They don’t mind saying that stuff if they know it’s only me listening.”

Arthur’s arms tightened around him possessively, “Who…?”

"See that’s what I mean!" Alfred groaned. "If I say, you’ll go rip their throats out, won’t you?"

Arthur’s ears flew back, “What! No—,”

"Don’t lie to me."

The elder kitsune heaved a sigh, pulling away so that he could tug Alfred back into the forest. The field was beginning to feel too open for his liking. “It’s someone I don’t like, isn’t it?”

"Mm hm…"

"And you won’t tell me who, will you?"

"Nope."

"… So I guess I’ll just have to go down the list then."

“ _Arthur!_ ”

Six tails or not, the elder kitsune laughed at the sound of scolding in the other fox’s voice.


	9. USUKUS Omegaverse Alpha Couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easter Prompt 9/11: "USUK omegaverse where they're both omegas (or both alphas)? -leninmeringuepie"

Alphas were, by nature, not attracted to other alphas.

They didn’t go into heat. They didn’t give off the pheromones omegas and betas did. They weren’t submissive and relaxed or even compliant. Alphas were completely incompatible with one another, through and through.

At least, that’s what everyone  _said_ , which really didn’t explain why Alfred was straddling Arthur on the couch in the former’s basement as they made out as though the world was about to end.

Of course, it wasn’t your typical romance— not in the slightest. Alfred might have been physically on top at the moment, but Arthur wasn’t about to let that mean he was winning. Oh, on the contrary. It was Arthur’s tongue and teeth and lips and hands that was causing the other perched atop him to become completely undone.

Alfred was growing annoyed with being pushed into the submissive side of the situation so, exhaling a guttural growl, he caught one of the other alpha’s hands and pinned it back. It only took a little maneuvering to capture his other wrist and soon both were latched in the firm grip of one hand as he pulled them over the alpha’s head. What Alfred lacked in expertise, he made up for in physical strength.

They traded a look as they parted for breath. Alfred’s was triumphant and Arthur’s annoyed.

"I win." Alfred said, grinning.

"Like hell you do." Arthur protested, but it was anything but angry.

Alfred nuzzled the side of his face and nipped his neck as though he were an omega, scoring from Arthur an irritated grunt. Then he tipped his head up and suckled at the other boy’s ear.

“ _Nn_ —! No fair!” Arthur gasped, now trying to shoulder him off.

Alfred let his teeth knead the sensitive flesh before he gave a nice little tug. Arthur moaned and he released the lobe, laughing quietly. “I win.” He repeated in the alpha’s ear, voice low.

"You got hard first!" Arthur argued.

"Yeah, but even  _I_  can smell arousal on you, so it must be pretty strong…” Alfred said teasingly, releasing the other alpha’s wrists as he sat up. Looking down at Arthur, he found himself pleased with what he saw. “If only you were an omega…” He said wistfully.

"If only _you_  were an omega.” Arthur corrected, looking annoyed. This was an issue they bantered about a lot. Which one of them was less alpha? Which one of them was more omega? It was an endless debate.

"My parents are going to be home soon." Alfred said, noting the time.

Arthur made an irritated noise. “You won, right? Don’t try to get out of taking responsibility for it…”

The larger alpha cast him an amused look. “Eager.” And then, “Did you lose on purpose just so that I’d suck you off?”

"Crude." Arthur scolded.

But he didn’t deny the accusation.

Somehow, despite their nature, they’d found a way to make this work.

And, really, they wouldn’t have had it any other way.


	10. USUK Implied, Denial, Mamihlapinatapei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easter Prompt 10/11: "General non-established but implied USUK. Bickering. Denial. Mamihlapinatapei (the look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move). -Fanmail Anon 2"

Dinner parties were not America’s forte.

In fact, he’d say that they were quite the opposite. Sure, he could put on a show, but that didn’t change the fact that, at the end of the night, he felt exhausted and relieved for the whole thing to be over.

It only made it worse when other nations were involved.

He wasn’t even hosting this year—France was—but that didn’t change the nature of the event. They were to come in suits, they were to be on their best behavior, and they were to not get drunk, not party, and not make a scene.

And, for America, that was a damn lot of pressure.

Which was why it didn’t take him very long to find escape in the form of the empty veranda, loosely swirling his expensive wine glass as he stared down at what was probably an expensive garden but just looked like blue-ish, black blobs in the dark.

"There you are."

America jerked slightly at the sound of England’s voice, turning to look at him.

"You should be inside. I didn’t raise you to skirt around your duties like this." The elder nation scolded.

America rolled his eyes, heaving a displeased breath. “You hardly  _raised me_  at all— you were gone all the time.” He said. He knew the jab would sting.

Glancing at England, he found he was right as a flash of guilt flickered in those eyes. “Be that as it may…”

"And it’s irrelevant anyway. That was hundreds of years ago." A sigh. "Get over it. I’m not a colony anymore. I haven’t been one for a long fucking time."

There was silence between them for a moment, but America was too irritated and exasperated to care. Except that then England was leaning on the railing next to him and suddenly he found himself uncomfortable with just how close the other nation seemed to be. “I know you are your own country, don’t misunderstand me.”

"Do you?" America said, disbelief heavy in his voice.

England huffed, “Of course.” And then a pause. “You have… become a fine nation in your own right. I sometimes don’t give you enough credit.”

America stared at him.

England stared back.

There was a dead, anticipatory silence and then…

He bit his lip and looked away. “Yeah, whatever old man.”

Everything suddenly hitched back to life again.

"At least I’m not a young brat. Accept a compliment when you’re given one!"

America rose a hand to scratch at his cheek, but really it was to hide a small smile. He wasn’t even sure why he had it, it was just that something about this felt comfortable in a way that he couldn’t explain. He felt more relaxed now, some of the prior tension easing. “Sure, sure, like I’d accept backhanded compliments from you…”

"It wasn’t even—," England made a frustrated noise. "Fine, don’t accept it. I was wrong. You’re a horrid creature and I should have thrown you into a river."

"Like I threw your tea into the harbor?"

The noise England made at that was so utterly scandalized that America burst out laughing.

That night ended up not being quite as bad as he had first expected.


	11. USUKUS Human!Alfred and Nation!England

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easter Prompt 11/11: "human!Alfred and nation!Arthur - Fanmail Anon 3"

There was something really strange about the man sitting at table number three.

Alfred kept staring at him, his brow furrowed, as he leaned against the front counter. There were no other customers at the moment, which was fine by him as it meant he got to stare at this mysterious stranger a little longer.

It was odd. There was something…  _off_  about him.

He was sitting there with his tea, which he had at first criticized but was now compliantly drinking, reading the paper and looking for all the world like the definition of poise. His back was straight and his shoulders a delicate curve. His face looked like immaculate lines of porcelain, clear as day as though he’d never even had a single blemish. His eyebrows were a bit thick for Alfred’s taste, but his  _eyes_  were just so _brilliantly green_  that it all sort of made them stand out even more.

And then that man looked up at him and held eye contact as if to say, _‘I know that you are staring at me.’_

It took Alfred a moment to realize that he was also in the customer service business and he quickly left the counter, approaching the man with a slightly forced cheer, “Did you need anything?” It was hard to pretend to be a server when those eyes were boring into you. At the silence, his smile faltered slightly.

The man took a casual glance around the room before seeming to be satisfied as he looked up at him again. “You seem to be quite taken with me.” He said bluntly.

Oh fuck, his voice was like warm honey. Alfred felt his knees go weak again, having somehow forgotten the feeling in the short span since the man had ordered his food. Why the hell was that accent so hot? He swallowed. “Um, yeah.”

That wasn’t at all what he had meant to say and his face turned a bright crimson.

But the man laughed and he felt his world tumble slowly back into place only to be disheveled further by the way that noise rang in his ears— it was so light but heavy and his heart ached.

The man extracted a business card from some inner breast pocket and scrawled something on the back in penmanship that Alfred was truly envious of. It looked tremendously practiced, but it came with such an ease that it left his head reeling. And then the man handed him the card.

Alfred suddenly realized that it was a phone number.

The man stood, giving him a soft smirk. “For when your shift is over. I’m in New York on business but… I can spare some time if you would be so inclined as to join me.”

Alfred nodded dumbly, unable to utter a single word as the man packed his belongings and left, gone within a short minute’s time. The tea he had previously complained about had been polished off completely.

He didn’t even clear the table as he shakily returned to the counter, peering down at the card with interest.

On the back was a phone number, easy to read despite the beautiful scrawl, but on the front…

He squinted at it, then frowned.

There was no name or… rather, where there  _should_  have been a name it just said the word _England_. It looked like it was supposed to be a name, but that couldn’t be right. Beneath that it merely said Representative…

The rest of the card was just some foreign address he could only assume was a business and the embossing of a little bird he didn’t recognize. It was, all in all, ridiculously fancy craftsmanship for a piece of paper.

Alfred suddenly felt a rush of anxiety at the thought of calling such an important man.

Yet… he did it anyway later that night, his body going to nerves at the soft hello that answered on the other line, verifying that none of this had been a joke.

In his panic he’d accidentally asked if  _England_  was there, glancing at the card and pulling from it that single word. He wanted to fall into a hole and die.

The man on the other end laughed, but it was a pleasant sound as he very gently explained that,  _yes_ , that was his name and,  _no_ , he needn’t apologize for the misunderstanding.

What followed was, without a doubt, one of the most amazing one night stands of Alfred’s life.

That was, until the man entered his coffee shop again four months later, making his mouth go dry and his knees twitch in anticipation.

Then it was a two night stand… a few months after that, three…

Somehow Alfred couldn’t even be upset that he was developing a bit of a physical twitch due to the man.

Every time someone said the word England, he became painfully aroused.


	12. USUK Painplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random Prompt: "Prompt is USUK with newspapers. - thecrazygirlwhodraws"
> 
> (The reason for this prompt was sort of a joke that would be difficult to explain here.)

Some people claimed that the newspaper was becoming irrelevant in today’s modernized world, technology bringing information to the minds of millions with such ease that it was truly enviable. Paper was outdated, they said. Why print when you could bring up the same information on a tablet screen? Or a computer screen? Or, really,  _any_  screen?

But technology was fragile and delicate.

No, tablets and computers and phones and whatever else didn’t have the same physical capacity to bring pleasure to ones hands as did the newspaper. Trees were superior. England would argue as much until his death.

These thoughts flickered through his mind as he took the thick, Sunday paper in one hand, rolling it up into a perfect, crisp, cylinder. It was wound tight and he felt the weight of it in his hand, satisfied.

Winding up, he brought the bundle down hard upon America’s bare bottom, the other nation yelping at the sudden, expected pain as a red mark bloomed on delicious flesh.

 “ _Mother of fuck_ —!”

And again.

“ _Jesus Christ_ —!”

Again.

"Shit that fucking,  _ngh_ —,”

Once more.

"A-  _ahhnn_ …”

With each hit the nation beneath him went from whining to moaning and, eventually, England ended the rough treatment, massaging the tender, abused curve of America’s arse beneath his hand.

There was silence for a moment as he gently rubbed the reddened skin, America’s breathing unsteady as he gulped for air.

"Was that sufficient?" England asked quietly, still fairly neutral on this entire thing. All he really wanted, honestly, was for America to be happy.

"Y- yeah that was," America took a breath, "good. Very, uh…  _good_.”

"I never thought you one to have a daddy kink." England said.

And then he realized what,  _exactly_ , that sort of thing might entail as an awkward silence settled over them.

“ _Oh_.” England said, smirking slightly.

America flushed red, giving away the truth of that statement. “S- shut up!”

England’s heart melted even as his cock twitched at all the lovely ways he could go about exploiting this…

And in his hand the object that had started all of this.

Oh yes, he would be subscribed to the newspaper for a long time to come.


	13. USUK Nation MPREG Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random Prompt: "domestic mpreg *v* - owynsama"

The house was quiet.

 _Too quiet_.

America frowned down at the mahogany desk for a few long moments, his pen held mid-air as he had just gone in to write something, but his mind was blank save for the thought that he hadn’t heard England in some time. Normally the other nation would be bustling about, asking him if he wanted something, or generally doing this or that, but there was… nothing.

Just the ticking of an old antique clock.

Rising from the chair, he left the office— _England’s_  office, actually—and started to make his way through the old English home in search of the other nation.

Eventually he found him in the sitting room, curled up on the sofa. He didn’t seem to hear America at all, too focused on the needles and yarn he had spread out over his lap.

"What are you doing?"

Predictable, England jumped slightly, but then he looked up with owlish green eyes. “Ah…” A pause in which he seemed to gather himself again. “Oh, I was just— um—…” He made a motion to hide the item in his hands.

But America was having none of that, swooping in from the other side to pluck the cloth bundle out of pale fingers.

"Hey, I’m not—,"

America stared at the object in his hands, mindful of the string coming off of it, careful not to undo the knitting. “This is…” His brow furrowed.

A little pink sock.

Blue eyes met green as a beat of silence passed between them. Then America was working his lips, trying to find the right words. “You… know it’s a girl already?” He felt a hurt pang in his chest at the fact that he had never been told— that he hadn’t  _been there_  for the discovery of it.

"Moron." England breathed, extracting the yarn from his hands. "It’s… it’s just a  _feeling_  I have…”

America settled down on the sofa beside him, leaning his head on England’s shoulder affectionately as he wrapped his arms around him, hands snaking underneath the baggy shirt to press to the pregnant nation’s firm, rounded stomach. “Oh yeah?” He asked, curious now.

"Mhm…"

They stayed like that for a moment and, eventually, England started to knit the small sock again, brow tight in concentration. America rubbed his back lightly, fingers massaging the soft curve of muscle as the nation himself made a pleased hum noise in appreciation. Being this far along, understandably, was rough, but England hardly complained about it…

No, America had to be very,  _very_  careful to watch for anything out of the ordinary, as he was aware now that the other nation would hide any pain that he had. It had become something of a skill, really, these past few months.

Caught in the pleasant lull of sitting together like this, his eyes wandered idly, but then they froze at a hint of blue and he tilted his head slightly as he realized that there were another pair of socks tucked right behind the basket of yarn.

These ones a pastel blue.

America frowned, pressing his face to England’s neck. “I thought you said you ‘had a feeling’…” He said, pouting even in his voice as he stared at the blue socks. He felt slightly lied to now. The idea of a little girl had gotten him on dreaming about small dresses and chasing off suitors.

England froze, understanding immediately. And then he took a breath. “I…” He hesitated. “I…  _do_ … have a feeling…”

"Oh?" America said skeptically, now looking at him with suspicion. England was being too evasive. "And what feeling is that?"

England licked his lips, pink tongue wetting reddened peach. “Twins.” He breathed, looking back at him. “We’re going to have twins.”

And, strangely enough, he ended up being right.


	14. USUK Post-Apocalyptic AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "usuk in a post-apocalyptic AU? :) - anon"
> 
> Whether human or nation is technically dubious, but it's more implied that they're human.

The air tasted bitter.

It was a weird thing to notice, really, because air didn’t have a particular taste, but right now it felt cloying and bitter and arid and Arthur noted, with some distaste, that this was a very strange thing to be thinking about right before you died.

"Arthur?" Alfred’s voice was soft and sweet and so very worried that it made him smile. "Arthur—  _stop that_. You’re going to be fine.” He urged him— _pleaded_  him—because he’d always been fine before so why was now any different?

Arthur chuckled softly, the motion pained as he bled out from the bullet wounds in his chest. “Alfred, it’s okay.”

"No, it’s not— I  _told you_  not to go out there—,”

"But." Arthur said softly. "You needed the medicine, right?"

There was silence save for Alfred taking a ragged breath. 

Arthur dare not open his eyes as he sat reclined against some rubble, the heat beating down harshly on the both of them.

"I would have never wanted you to risk yourself for me."

Of course. “I know that.” Arthur said gently. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.” And this time he did open his eyes, wanting to see sky blue once more.

That color reflected back at him from Alfred’s eyes, the actual sky a mottled and angry red. They hadn’t seen it be any other color for some time now.

"It’s safe, isn’t it?" Arthur asked, smiling at him.

There were tears in Alfred’s eyes, like rain drops. “Yeah, the medicine— it’s safe…” The other man was clutching his hand, rubbing soothing circles into the back of it. It was strangely intimate.

"Good." Arthur murmured.

"You’ll be fine." Alfred said, repeating himself as though it were a new mantra. "You’ll be _fine_.”

Arthur smiled at him, squeezing his hand slightly. “Of course I will be.”

And then he died.


	15. USUK Cosplay BBC Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "America dragging England along to cosplay with him. - anon"

"I can’t believe I’m doing this." England said, tugging at the jumper. It was  _his_  jumper, actually, but America had literally torn his wardrobe apart in search of it and had, subsequently, demanded he wear it. And slacks. He had also demanded he wear slacks. “I honestly, truly, can’t believe you talked me into this.”

America, dressed in a long, dark coat with a purple scarf—the collar popped _just so_ —smirked at him. “Good.” He said smoothly. “You’re in character.”

England had to once again still his heart as that good ol’ Hollywood shone through his former charge like a damned beacon, his acting not impeccable but good enough to make the Englishman’s heart flutter. He’d even somehow perfected some sort of bastardization of an English accent, which was, if England was truly honest with himself, wholly passable.

It made him want to punch the other man, really.

No one should look that insufferably smug and still remain attractive.

His hair was even dyed black, the locks teased into rolling curls, glasses replaced with contacts.

England could hardly stand to look at him. “Yes, sure. Whatever.” He waved the convention provided fan, trying to cool his heated face. “I still can’t believe I’m here. Why did you even need to bring me? Couldn’t you indulge in this fetish on your own?”

America looked vaguely like he wanted to laugh, but the expression was washed away by the acting as he gave England a cool and calculated look. “I needed my doctor.”

"Doctor, my arse." England muttered.

America made a huff noise— it was but a small, exhaled laugh, but even  _that_  sounded in character. Yet he said nothing, instead content to peer out at the mass of convention goers with a steely sort of concentration.

It was damned unnerving to watch him put on this show, England thought. America was the opposite of his own, beloved Sherlock remake. America was loud and obnoxious and, honestly, the Sherlock he currently portrayed would have found him to be nothing short of annoying.

And yet, to England, it was stirring in him thoughts that really did give credit to the title erotic ambassador. Mostly, he blamed the heat.

Two girls approached them, one with cat ears and a tail and another laden down with bags. They weren’t the first and they certainly wouldn’t be the last.

"Can we take a picture of you two?" One asked, a bouncing, twittering blonde who looked at the both of them starry-eyed. Her accent was distinctly southern, reminding England for not the first time that they were, in fact, in the United States.

"If you must…" America drawled, but there was a mirthful look on his face that reassured them that it was fine and the girl made a high-pitched noise that actually caused England to recoil.

"We just— we love the show so much and your costumes are so good!" Said the other girl, her hair a dark black that was tied up in a ponytail. "It’s so rare to see men dressed as them, too!"

"Naturally." America told them, nodding, his voice smooth like chocolate. "The fan base consists primarily of women— wholly unsurprising as the writers cater to a largely female demographic."

The girls giggled as England rolled his eyes. That wasn’t a deduction at all. Anyone with half a mind could have ‘deduced’ something like that.

Yet the cool, unwavering tone of his voice, heavy with the assurance that whatever it was he was saying was correct, still managed to make England feel things that, really, he didn’t _want_  to feel.

Not at all.

The girls positioned for photographs, so America posed for them, England standing alongside him looking overheated and irritable. Apparently whatever they saw in America, they didn’t hesitate to see in him too, both happily shooting take after take.

"Are you two a couple?" One of the girls asked, a hopeful flush dancing to life on her face.

"Yes." "No."

England jerked his head to look at America, brows meeting his hairline. “We’re not.” He asserted. The girls laughed, beside themselves. “What?” He was fairly scandalized now. “We’re not!”

"John, John,  _John_ …” America-Sherlock sighed, shaking his head. “Why hide it any longer? It doesn’t take someone of my caliber to deduce the truth…”

"Oh no— oh no, _oh no_ , don’t you try to pull this on me here. What do you think you’re doing—?” England protested, scowling as America approached him. He was backing away, naturally.

"John, please. You’re embarrassing yourself."

“ _I’m_  embarrass—  _mmph!”_  And then America caught him. And kissed him.

The sound of squealing was loud. So was the sound of a camera shutter.

When America released him from the sudden snogging, England found himself properly dazed and flushed and too uncomprehending to be able to string two words together.

America, however, looked completely calm and even quite smug. “So,” The nation said, smiling coolly at the girls, “you can see that we are, indeed, a couple.”

And that’s how America choose to confess his feelings and ask out England.


	16. USUK Omegaverse Sudden Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Alpha!Alfred panicking because Omega!Arthur told him that his heat is coming up and Alfred has no idea what he's doing. (They've just got together) - anon"

It all started with a phone call.

"Alfred… I’m, ah— I’m going into heat in a few days time, it seems. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you sooner. It completely slipped my mind…"

The alpha nearly dropped his phone in shock. _“What?"_ He squeaked. He honestly could have kicked himself for that sad little noise, but it was what it was.

The omega hesitated, “Yes I… Oh, I’m sorry. I know things have been moving fast, but I can understand if you’re not ready for— well, I mean, it is a little soon and—,”

"No, I—," Alfred took a gulp of air. "I’ll be there, um… to support you, I mean."

"Oh," Arthur was quiet on the other end and just as Alfred was about to speak to fill the silence he continued, "I’ll… start preparations then."

"Alright." Alfred said. "Um… Do you— do you need me to, uh… do anything?"

The omega was quiet for a long moment and Alfred bit his lip. “Well…” It was a drawn out noise, thoughtful and uncertain. “If you could bring some shirts or… or maybe that jacket of yours, ah… it would help to have some of that in the nest…”

 _Nest_. Alfred felt his throat go dry. “Okay.”

"Anyway, I have some things to attend to, so I’ll call you again tonight, alright?"

"Yeah, um. Sure."

"Goodbye, Alfred."

"Later."

The connection went dead.

The alpha stared at the phone in his hand for a long moment. While mating with an omega in heat didn’t mean they had to  _mate_ , per se…

It was sometimes difficult for an alpha to contain itself when faced with someone they truly cared for. Not that Arthur was aware of that fact, having only known him to simply ask him out one day. Alfred had pined after him for months prior, so it only made sense that his feelings were a fair bit more intense than the omega was probably expecting.

And, really, he had no idea what he was doing. He’d never slept with an omega before—let alone one in heat—and so it was with no small amount of anxiety that he showed up to the omega’s residence two days later, a small box of gifts under one arm. After waiting several long moments, the door finally opened.

Alfred was hit with the scent before he could even fully register it, pushing his way inside to find a disheveled and half-robed Arthur, breathless and flushed and—  _oh god_ , he just smelled so,  _so_  very good…

And there was some kind of liquid coating his thighs that made the alpha’s head spin.

The box of gifts fell to the wayside as he stumbled forward to embrace his boyfriend, the omega making a soft keening noise at the feeling of hands on his skin. “Sorry I- I…” Alfred shuddered as he pressed his face to his boyfriend’s neck. “I can’t help myself… You smell so good…”

"Silly…" Arthur murmured, hands coming up to stroke the short hairs at the back of his neck. "You’re supposed to react that way."

"I know, but…" He nuzzled that damp skin, his head spinning as scent rushed through him. "… s- shouldn’t I be more composed I—…" His throat was tight. "I want to devour you."

“ _Please_.” Arthur begged, voice gasped. “Take me back to my nest a- and— I need you… I want you inside…”

Alfred ignored the plea, fingers slipping into the robe and teasing the omega’s entrance. “Right here…” He rasped, one finger probing him. It went in with such ease that he could hardly believe it, the muscle spasming around his digit as Arthur gasped, the omega’s spine arching. “Yeah…” He couldn’t think anymore, too consumed with a primal need, and so it was like that that he hefted Arthur up, pressing the omega’s back into the wall of the foyer as he lined himself up and slid inside.

Arthur nearly screamed but it was a throaty, pleasured noise and Alfred wasted no time in bucking into him, the omega’s body pinned between his chest and the wall as he fucked him, Arthur’s fingers clawing and scrambling for purchase.

Everything spiraled up, peaked, and he came, the sensation of his knot expanding enough to force Arthur over the edge as the omega’s seed stained his shirt right through, a wet and sticky mess.

And Alfred reeled forward, teeth sinking into the deliciously exposed curve of flesh that was his shoulder, lost in a swoon as he marked him as his mate— now and forever, a permanent sign of their bond.

At first Arthur pressed at his head, as though to protest, but the motion gave way to something fond as deft fingers started to bury themselves into his hair.

It wasn’t until Alfred tasted blood that clarity fell down upon him like a sudden weight and he jerked his head up to find the most wonderful of sights— Arthur panting and dazed, flushed down to his shoulders, head lolled back against the wall he was pinned up against.

And the mark that sat as a dappled red cherry against pale flesh.

"Shit, Arthur I—,"

Fingers pressed to his lips, halting his words. “You’re an idiot.” The omega sighed, voice a sated breathlessness. “And my family is going to kill you for not asking first.” Arthur exhaled a laugh. “But…”

There was a glimmer in his deep green eyes.

"I would be lying if I said I hadn’t at least half-hoped that you would give in like that."

Alfred felt a swelling of relief in his chest as he pulled the omega as close to his body as he could, the knot making it difficult to maneuver themselves. “I’m taking you back to your nest.” Alfred told him, possessive and grinning. “And I’m going to fuck you until you can’t move.”

Arthur laughed softly, “Brilliant.” His fingers carded through Alfred’s hair. “My brilliant, perfect alpha.”


	17. USUK Summer Vacation Smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "USUK on summer vacation! smut! - anon"

"Wow, the sun really did a number on you, huh?"

England hissed as the hand of the speaker applied lotion to his back, rubbing it in with rough, calloused hands. “Be more careful, you git!” He bit out, squirming in agony against the hotel bed.

America tutted, but the pressure of his hand eased into something more soft and gentle. “You wouldn’t be like this if you hadn’t fallen asleep reading your book. You should have joined us in the water.”

"For the last bloody time—," England growled, "I  _cannot_  swim. How  _terribly difficult_  is that for your mind to grasp?”

"Yeah, I know but, like, I would have helped you. And there were inner tubes and stuff too. You have options." America pointed out, still carefully maneuvering lotion into the curves of his back.

It was starting to feel oddly sensual.

Silence fell between them for a few moments, the only sound that of the wet press of skin against skin.

"It hurts, huh?" America said softly from somewhere behind him.

"Of course it does." England was as red as a lobster, although he was grateful that it was concentrated on his back and not his face.

America hummed in thought and, suddenly, England found the other nation tugging his swim shorts down, exposing his bare arse, “What in god’s name do you think you’re doing—?” He squawked, but a hand softly placed on his back stilled him as he knew that if he moved it would press down into that tender flesh and burn.

"Just thought I’d take your mind off of it, is all."

And then there was a finger prodding at his entrance and, suddenly, sliding in with a suspicious amount of ease. “A- Are you using the cream as lube?” England balked.

"Aloe Vera." America said. "There’s no warning against it on the bottle— I checked when I bought it."

"You right idiot." England hissed, fisting his hand into the comforter as the digit inside of him worked him over. And then a second was added and he felt himself come mercilessly undone. "I can’t believe you’d— you’d take advantage of me… like this…" He managed, panting.

"I just want you to feel good." America said, mirth in his voice.

And, oh god, there was the third finger, all slick and cool as they slid in and out of his body. “Just get on with it then.” England grumbled, suppressing a moan. “And watch the burns!”

"Yeah, yeah…" America shifted into position, pulling England’s hips up so that he could slide into him.

It felt painful as his back arched, but the raw and heated singe of that cock in his body made him forgive the irritation as he jutted back into it, hips tilted just so. “ _Mmmyes_ , that’s the spot…” England half-murmured, half-moaned.

"Toldja you’d like it…" America gloated.

England rolled his eyes. “As long as you shut your mouth and fuck me, I’ll forgive this little stint of yours.”

"Yessir." America quipped, using his hips as leverage as he rocked into him. 

The brush of England’s burned thighs against that heated body was washed away by the welling feeling of euphoria that rose in his chest. “Shameless…” England gasped between moans.

"Learned from the best!" America replied, thrusting now with a great deal of enthusiasm.

That shut him up well enough.

For a while the tropically themed room was silent save for the wet slap of flesh against flesh but, with a grunt, America’s pace quickened as he started to piston into the nation below him in earnest. “F- fuck— you’re too tight, I— _anh_ …”

He came, England quivering at the sudden, rougher roll of hips, uneven and desperate as he filled him with seed.

And then America dragged him to collapse onto their sides, still sheathed by him, one hand looping around to lazily stroke his own leaking cock.

The burning hiss of his burns combined with the pleasured waves still rolling through him made him reach the edge easily as he came onto the bed cover, momentarily mindless to the staff that would soon come to loathe the two of them.

When he finished bucking into the perfect, rough palm, England felt a hand rubbing soothing circles into his back. “Feel a little better?”

England exhaled an exasperated laugh, sated and dreamy despite the pain. “Yeah. I do.”


	18. USUK American Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm drowning in a sea of American Revolution information so anything about that? - qichi"

It was over.

England didn’t so much drag a hand through his hair as he clawed at it, chest tight as a the burn of defeat raged with humiliation and betrayal.

Freedom, they had said—chanted and sang to the heavens, bolstering their numbers.  _JOIN OR DIE_. Fight the tyranny of the British Empire. And what hurt the most was that, as America rejected him, he had turned to others whom loved nothing more than to see the English nation in pain—France and Spain…

America had become something else— _someone else_. He was a stranger now, his yearning to be free of England a fire so intense it warranted the rage of war. Many had died just so that his precious colony could be without him.

And despite how he felt—despite the bitterness and hurt—England knew, on some level, that he deserved all of this.

When he was generous he might silently admit to himself the cruel, overzealous control he had taken over American affairs. But that had all been for Alfred’s own good. The boy was young—naive—and he needed proper guidance. Some of what he had done was unreasonable, surely, but it was necessary too.

When he was less generous he might lead himself to believe that he simply had had this coming from the beginning. How dare he find joy—a light—in this world? How dare he trust? It was natural that this be the conclusion, for England was not a country that was allowed happiness. What he did find was fleeting. Temporary. It lasted no more than the blink of an eye and was gone forever.

He wanted to fight this war until he was bleeding, broken, and dead…

He wanted  _his America_  to remain _his_.

Not this—  _the United States_.

Yet over seven thousand captured argued otherwise and, as much as he despised America for this torment, he couldn’t betray his people by continuing to ignore their struggle.

It was over.

America had won, aided by his own enemies.

It was hardly surprising that both nations sent representatives in their stead to discuss the issue of peace, unable to face each other after the war. Although England had thought, perhaps, that America might have shown up only to gloat, but no. The declaration was signed without either’s presence, although he was livid and more than a little relieved to hear that his own had defended his right to Canada in his stead.

 _Why must you try to rip everything away from me?_  He had thought momentarily before the sentiment was gone, submerged in a pool of anger and pain.

Let him go.

Let him go and to hell with the dreams of that rainy day. To hell with the mists of London, every drop of water a reminder—a memory.

To hell with America.

He didn’t need him.

He didn’t need anybody.

Yet, there were cracks trailing lines beneath the surface, his weakness running the depth of him. He had shown what he thought to be love and this was how it had ended.

Never again.

Never again, lest he might just break.

And, when they chanced the same locale years later, he avoided those sky blue eyes. There was no sun in them for him.


	19. USUK Omegaverse Domestic Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Domestic USUK omegaverse please! - anon"
> 
> This story contains implied mpreg and male lactation.

A sudden cry broke the serenity of the early morning, quiet at first until it rose into a bubbling shrill as the tiny lungs of an infant sounded its distress.

“ _Oh my god_ , again?” Came the first voice as the parents of said child stirred. “Does she never  _sleep?_ ”

"If she takes after you…" grumbled the second voice, irritation thick and heavy, "then no. No, she does not."

"She’s probably hungry." Said the first voice, less a statement and more a defense against having to get up.

A sigh. “I know.” The omega stretched for a moment before sitting up.

Alfred rolled over and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist, kissing his lower back from his ungainly sprawl across the bed. “I’ll get it next time, okay?”

Arthur ruffled his mate’s hair. “I need to go anyway.” He told him. “My chest feels tight.”

"You’ve been taking the supplements, right?"

"Yeah. It’s a pain though because sometimes I leak now and…" Arthur made a noise in his throat that bespoke of world weariness.

The cry rose in volume, as if their spawn could sense that they’d awoken and were dawdling.

"Yes, love, yes, I’m coming." Arthur called out quietly, words for more his own sanity than for their child. He pulled on a robe and walked out of the bedroom, padding softly into the nursery. Their little girl was squirming and crying, but at the sight of him she calmed into happy burbling noises. "What a sweet little girl you are…" Arthur cooed, gently picking her up from where she was tucked in her crib.

At once their daughter was grasping at his chest and the soft fabric of his robe and he sighed. So she was, indeed, hungry. It was almost predictable now, naturally timed with when the glands in his chest would feel pressure. Still, if she was really that famished he’d need to mix some formula. Omega males simply didn’t produce enough milk to satisfy every child, although so far she’d been less greedy about the supply than most apparently were.

He settled down in a rocking chair that a friend had gifted them, a hand crafted piece that was delicately carved, unicorns and rabbits and all manner of fantastic creatures etched into its form. Pulling back the edge of his robe, he laughed softly as she wasted no in latching onto a pert nipple, suckling eagerly.

Although exhausted, he couldn’t help but feel a warm fondness in his chest that remained even as she gummed at his flesh roughly in toothless bites. It was simply something that he had gotten used to by now and, considering her father, he couldn’t help but think her enthusiasm for food was entirely to be expected.

He softly ran his fingers over the tuft of blond on her head and she paid him no mind as he teased the tiny strands into little curls.

"Fuck, you’re both so cute." Came a voice from the doorway and Arthur looked up to see Alfred leaning there, the alpha watching them.

"Don’t curse around the baby." He scolded lightly. And then, "I thought you were going to sleep longer."

"I was." Alfred told him, but then he walked into the room and peered down at their daughter, rubbing her cheek with a finger. She ignored him too. "But I kind of like watching you do this."

Arthur bit his lip but gave a hesitant smile. He hadn’t been able to produce milk at all when she was first born and it was strange how empty that had made him feel. They’d come a long way since then and it was only recently that that had changed, doctors and pills making him function, finally, in the way that he was supposed to. So he felt a pang in his chest at the sentiment.

"Hey now, don’t cry…" Alfred said, kneeling beside the chair now.

"I’m not." Arthur told him, mostly because he wasn’t.

"I know." The alpha said, leaning in to kiss his arm over the side of the chair. "But you always tense your jaw and make this funny face when it looks like you’re going to, like you’re trying to hold it back.."

Arthur wasn’t sure how he felt about that observation. “Well I’m not crying.” He said, pouting slightly. And then the bundle in his arms released his nipple and he turned her around, where she quickly became attached to the second one.

Alfred hummed and leaned on the chair arm slightly. Sky blue eyes were watching the process of her feeding with open fascination.

"I- is it really so interesting…?" Arthur asked him, although he knew the exact feeling. It had been so strange and wonderful when he had finally been able to do this and he still felt some awe over it.

"Well you normally don’t let me watch." The alpha told him.

Perhaps that was true. Arthur relaxed in the chair, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. He could have very well fallen asleep here if not for the little, greedy bites from their daughter. Still, he yawned.

And then their daughter mimicked the motion, seemingly satisfied now that she had drained him of what he was worth, mouth milky as she gave a wide, audible yawn.

"Here, let me." Alfred said, delicately plucking the child from his arms as he adjusted her for a moment and then walked over to place her back in the crib.

She was already asleep by the time her head was on the pillow.

Arthur pulled the robe back over himself, joining Alfred at the crib’s edge. The alpha looped an arm around his waist, tugging him close and resting his cheek on his hair. It was a gesture the other male had picked up during Arthur’s pregnancy and he hadn’t let go of it yet. The omega knew it was because he could scent him that way to make sure that he was well and healthy, but he’d never had the heart to say anything about it lest the alpha stop.

It always made him feel warm and giddy.

"C’mon, no sleeping on your feet." Alfred told him and he jerked slightly, unaware that he’d been leaning heavily against him. The alpha laughed quietly, a breathy noise as he tugged Arthur out of the room.

"I can walk on my own, you know."

"I know." Alfred said, still pulling him along with the hand settled on his hip.

Arthur exhaled a laugh, not questioning the gesture further as they returned to bed, the alpha unwilling to let him go even as they fell back into a much needed sleep.


	20. USUK Omegaverse First Scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The first time Alfred smells Arthur's scent. - anon"

It was intoxicating.

Alfred had been walking across campus, minding his own business, when it hit him hard and fast, making him swerve from his path as he immediately went in search of whatever it was that smelled so delectably good. He hadn’t expected this route to take him back the way he came as he navigated through the bustle of students heading from one class to the next, but whatever it was was this direction and whatever it was was far, far more appealing than chemistry at the moment.

And he actually _liked_  chemistry.

But no, his feet were guiding him now and he followed them, unable to veer from the path they took him along. It was only once things began to die down did he realize that he wasn’t just following a scent—

He was following a person.

It was an omega in a dark green peacoat that had wandered into the library and he followed him inside without hesitation, trailing after more slowly than before, now aware that his alpha instincts had taken over.

If he were completely honest, they were still very much in control and he licked his lips and wondered if perhaps the other male were going into heat. That would explain the sudden reaction and Alfred had always had a keener nose than most other alphas.

The omega stopped at the historical fiction section and wandered in, pausing every so often to look at the spines of the tomes as he mumbled something to himself and continued on.

Eventually he disappeared around a corner and Alfred followed after—

—only to get thwacked in the face with a notepad just as he rounded the shelf.

The assault didn’t hurt so much, but it did sting and Alfred recoiled slightly, clutching his cheek.

The omega was standing there, looking furious if not a little defensive, and he still held the notebook like a weapon. “Why are you following me?”

"Why? I just—," Alfred didn’t know what to say. He didn’t really have an answer. So he said the only thing he could think of: "Your scent."

"My what?" The omega looked more than taken aback.

Alfred swallowed, feeling hot under the collar now that he was closer to him. The omega smelled like linen and raspberry and freshly fallen rain. “I, uh— I’m sorry—,” but he wasn’t. Not really. And he stumbled forward and embraced him.

The omega didn’t even move, too shocked by the sudden wrap of arms around him. And then he shuffled slightly, weakly pressing him away as though only making the effort just for show. “A- Alfred, I…”

But the alpha was lost, too busy pressing his face into that perfect, flawless neck and teasing the swath of skin with his teeth. The omega keened lightly as his knees almost gave out.

And then where they were and who they were and what they were doing all came back to him and Alfred released the omega, stumbling back even as those green eyes flashed with a strange sort of longing. “You’re… I’m pretty sure you’re going into heat…” He managed, face flushed and cock hard in his jeans.

"I…" Was all the omega managed to say, looking dazed, before Alfred shook his head.

"Sorry, I just— sorry—," He said quickly, trying to dispel the fog in his head. It was of no use— despite his every instinct, he turned and ran.

It was only later that wondered how the omega had known his name.


	21. USUK Nations Shamelessly Flirting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "USUK as nations flirting in the halls either before or after a meeting. - owynsama"
> 
> I don't have an excuse for this one.

"Hey."

England looked up, blinking at America tiredly. It was far too early for any nonsense, so he hoped the other nation wasn’t about to pick a fight. The conference room hadn’t been unlocked yet and the lot of them that had shown up early were meandering about, most congregated in a near room around the provided snacks and beverages. England, however, had taken to standing in the hall by himself with a loaded cup of earl grey. He’d need the energy, he was sure. “Good morning.”

America leaned against the wall beside him. “You know how I like my coffee?”

"What?" England wrinkled his nose at the absurd question. "Of course not."

"Foreign, bitter, and with a little bit of cream inside." And then the idiot had the gall to take a pointed sip of his beverage.

England gaped at him, trying to understand what it was that he had just heard. And then, “I’m not bitter.” He said, feeling slightly offended.

"Maybe. Maybe not." America grinned. "But you’re potent and deep and when I have you I feel like I’m filled with boundless energy."

He felt his face turn scarlet. “What are— what—,” Of course they had somehow gotten into sleeping together recently and there was a rather lot of affection in between but America had never been quite so blatantly shameless about it before.

But instead of feeling upset he felt…

England licked his lips. “You make me wetter than Somerset.”

America stared at him for a moment before his perfectly constructed mask broke and he started to laugh, even going so far as to double over slightly. “ _Oh my fucking god_ …” He gasped. “Only you— only  _you_  would joke about flooding!”

Hiding his shameless grin behind his cup—because it just wasn’t  _decent_ , you know—England said, “Well, it is what it is.”

Composing himself only just, America stood straight. “On a scale of one to America, how free are you tonight?”

Utterly, preposterously tasteless. England had the mind to balk but there was an invitation hanging in the air. “Are you asking me on a date?” He said, mirth in his voice.

America smiled at him, “Something like that.”

"Insufferable git."

"Well it worked, didn’t it?"

England sighed. And then he smiled softly at the other, “If beauty were time, you’d be eternity.”

"…" The taller nation made a face and then laughed, exasperated. "I was gonna say one about McDonald’s but you killed it."

"Good." England quipped sipping his tea and trying to quell the fluttering feeling in his chest.

Because no matter how they had gotten here, it didn’t change the fact that now he had a date with a very attractive American specimen, and he was rather looking forward to it, all things considered.

Even if one time America had insisted on giving England a high-five during orgasm.

…

At least things weren’t  _boring_.


	22. UKUS Naga Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "UKUS naga courtship? - anon"

He was beautiful.

All glimmering blue scales curled in a lazy, yet elegant heap on the stone, the shade like that of the sky of above, skin warm and glowing and with the heat of the sun.

And he had yet to notice Arthur watching him from the water.

There were two type of naga, yet their differences were merely cosmetic and cultural when, at the base of it all, they were very much the same. Land or lake, it mattered not. Some took to both, but many stuck with where they were raised. And Arthur, all dark emerald and pale skin, was the complete opposite of the one on the rocks.

And yet he pined.

The stranger had shown up one day, new to his eyes, taking to the open area of the shore without a thought to those that dwelled in the waters, and Arthur had, in turn, taken to watching him. It was only after about a month or so that he realized his surveillance to be a little more than wariness.

Really, it was quite a lot  _more_.

So one day he finally ventured out into the open, slithering up onto the shore with easy, relaxed glides of his long tail, and that stranger looked up at him, surprised but not startled by his appearance, as if he had known he was there all along.

And then the stranger unfurled himself from his relaxed position, stretching out onto the stone languidly— _invitingly_ —and Arthur realized suddenly that perhaps he had been coming here with the intent to entice someone all along.

All the more intriguing, really. It was obvious from the narrower curve of his hips, now exposed for Arthur’s gaze, that he was a bearing type. He, unlike Arthur, produced offspring…

The way those eyes flashed at him just screamed,  _'Mount me.'_

Naga didn’t go into heat, no, but some became restless and, now that he was out in the open, he could smell the alluring scent of fertility on the other. It radiated off of him like a beacon and, the closer he got, the more drunk he felt off of it.

He climbed neatly onto the rock with him, the other just watching him with warm blue eyes, and then, when they were close enough together they naturally ended up tangling in a way Arthur had never known before. It was instant, a mess of moving muscle and scales, but then he had the other pinned and a desperate sort of fire was burning in his chest and then they kissed.

Kissing was an odd act for a naga, all things considered. It was more a show of domination and submission than anything else, as one allowed the other to press a thick, split tongue into the depths of his mouth, teasing sensitive fangs and making him gasp and arch. It was a ready check, really. It verified consent for both parties.

And  _consent_  they  _did_.

This one wanted to be heavy with eggs—Arthur could very well taste it—so it was no surprise to him at all that as they rubbed together, curling and twisting and sliding against each other’s body, that both became irrevocably  _aroused._

That pink, wet slit opened for him and Arthur pressed up against it, twin lengths prodding at it for a moment before they began to push their way  _in_. The naga beneath him gasped, head falling back as he pressed up against Arthur, desiring to take in more.

And Arthur was happy to satisfy him, in,  _in_ — until no more would go, all wet and heat and a clawing need to twist together, tails shifting in frenzy. It was less a thrust and more an undulation of bodies, but they were panting and gasping and gripping at each other all the same as Arthur’s own lengths swelled to keep a hold on that inviting pocket.

He wasn’t sure whether their antics went on for a few minutes or an hour, but all he knew was when he came they stilled, both frozen as  _feeling_  pulsed through their bodies.

They were locked now. Arthur had known about this—had seen others curled up together in this way—but experiencing it was strange and profound. They clung together as though they had known each other all their lives, curled up on the rock in the sun.

As he clutched the other naga to his chest, he felt content and happy because, for now, this was his mate.


	23. USUK Wolf and Rabbit Oviposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "e g g s. - qichi"
> 
> So, um. Eggs. You've been warned.

"Rabbits don’t lay eggs." Alfred said carefully, the humanoid wolf eyeing him with open suspicion as he sat crouched on a rock.

Arthur regarded him carefully. “No. No, they do not.”

That seemed to bother Alfred because his eyes narrowed at the humanoid rabbit with new found confusion. “Then you’re pregnant.”

"No, not quite." The rabbit huffed, tail twitching slightly as he gathered berries and tried to ignore the pestering creature behind him. "As I said, it was a monster that did this."

"Monsters don’t exist." Alfred pointed out.

Arthur looked at him, his eyes speaking volumes. “I assure you.” He said slowly. “They  _do_.”

The wolf and rabbit weren't exactly what you could call friends. Arthur mostly minded his own business and Alfred didn’t eat him and that was the long and short of it. They’d never actually spoken this much before, yet when Alfred had seen him—his stomach rounded and fat in a very,  _very_  distinctive way—he’d taken to following him around like a little lost puppy.

Never mind that it was really  _Arthur_  who was practically half the other creature’s body size. His own frame was slim and made for quick motion, albeit his ears, which hung in frumpled tufts, long and in the way, sort of detracted from the illusion of aerodynamicism. The puff of tail didn’t really help. Either way, Alfred was large, all muscle and ego with a big bushy tail and tall, pointed ears, and he could very well devour Arthur if he wanted to.

Yet he didn’t.

No, in fact he seemed to be doting in a way that Arthur couldn’t quite fathom.

"Do y’need help with that?" Alfred asked, watching him collect the little red berries with interest.

Arthur’s tail twitched. “No.”

The wolf made a hum noise, not moving from his perch. He just sat and watched— a sort of strange, slightly worrisome guardian.

Basket full, he began to head home with his pick… and Alfred made to follow him. He said nothing of this for a while, but as he grew closer and closer to home it became evident that the wolf intended to join him there. The rabbit turned an annoyed scowl on the other creature. “Do you mind?”

Alfred blinked. “No, not at all.” He said casually, still following like a loyal pet.

"No— I mean, could you  _not_  follow me? It’s unnerving.” And it was. It wasn’t beyond him to admit that this made him feel vaguely hunted.

"What? Why?" Alfred sounded honestly baffled.

Arthur stopped, turning to face him. “Are you planning to eat me now? After all this time?” He said, more asking rather than stating it as though he believed it so. It just didn’t seem like the wolf to bide his time in such a manner. He didn’t strike the rabbit as being that deliberate.

Or, rather, Arthur had come to hold a very tentative level of trust in the other creature and he was slightly anxious that that could shatter at a moment’s notice.

Alfred was staring at him, owlish, and then he cocked his head and pointed at Arthur’s very pregnant-looking belly. “You’re carrying, well…” He wrinkled his nose slightly. “You’re carrying some kind of children, right? And you’re on your own. Aren’t you worried? Like, at all?”

"… What?" His heart was thumping in his chest like his foot when his ears were scratched. He wasn’t quite sure what it was that he was hearing.

"Well there’s no father around. I can’t smell anyone else on you. And you’re at your most vulnerable, right?"

A beat of fear. “So…” He tensed. “Y- you  _are_  going to eat me—?”

The wolf’s entire body went rigid, tail puffing up. “What!? No!” He stalked forward and, although Arthur stumbled back, his wrist was caught by a slightly padded hand, the sharp nails on the ends of the wolf’s fingers very carefully held away from his skin. “You need to be protected! What if you get attacked—?”

"By you—?" The rabbit breathed, confused.

"No!" The wolf’s ears were pricked high and there was a look of irritation on his face now. "I have to protect you because no one else will, right?"

Arthur blinked.

A silence fell between them.

Oh—

…  _Oh_.

He curled in on himself slightly, shoulders raised as he stared up at Alfred through dark lashes. “… You… want to _protect_  me?”

Alfred released his wrist, running that hand through his wild hair. “Well  _someone_  has to…” He said, but it sounded like a flimsy reason at best.

Arthur bit his lip and looked down at his basket.

It… was foolish to trust a wolf this much. Really, it was.

But he wanted to.

Looking up at Alfred, he wondered if he was making the wrong choice.

 

 

Arthur groaned slightly, clutching his stomach as he curled in on himself in his so-called nest. It was a good deal of grass and moss all bundled and tied together in his hut, but it was soft and it served its purpose well, even if at the moment he was writhing upon it as pains wracked him right through.

He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, to be honest, but Alfred was kneeling next to him and murmuring soothing things he couldn’t hear, the wolf patting sweat from his head with the use of a small cloth.

The rabbit felt hot then cold then hot again and he groaned. “I- it  _hurts_ …” He whined, stretching his body out and then curling in on himself again as he panted. “It hurts.” He repeated. Tears had already long taken to beading at the corner of his eyes and spilling down his cheeks and he no longer had the energy to feel embarrassed.

"It’s okay." Alfred told him, rubbing behind his ear with gentle fingers in a way that made some of the pain ease if only just. "You’ll be alright. Just relax. Er— push, I guess? That’s what they say for normal babies…"

Arthur took a shuddered breath. He was clad only in a very plain nightgown sort of thing, his lower half completely exposed and naked— not that nudity really bothered him. “I- I am— I think. I—  _ngh_ — h- hurts…”

"I know." Alfred told him, despite clearly not being sure what it was that  _he_  should be doing either. “Just let it happen. It’ll be over soon.”

The rabbit made a pained noise, burying the side of his face into the moss as he gasped, his entire body shuddering. “I feel—  _ah_ — it’s…” His legs were spread apart, as wide as he could draw them, his back a bow as speech dissolved into nothing but muddled whines of pain.

It swelled— _the pain_ , that was. It was reaching some kind of cusp and then— and then—

He felt something drop from his body, slicked, and a wash of relief hit him so hard he…

… he orgasmed.

It was a gasp and a shiver as his cock spilled wetness over himself, the sudden euphoria so strong he moaned long and loud, body shaking and toes curling. This wasn’t a feeling he had ever had before, honestly, and it ripped through him like a drug, cutting down all the pain into something expansive and blissful and  _amazing_.

When he came down from it, he could see the particularly comical look on the wolf’s face next to him. His ears were swung back as though he’d been hit, eyes wide and pupils dilated, and there was a flush that ran all the way down to his neck. Arthur couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed and he laughed at him, although the sound was more a drunken giggle than anything else.

And then the pain rose up again, a crescendo of something terrible and aching, but this time Arthur knew what was coming at the end and there was anticipation there as he felt the egg move through his body, ready to join the first one.

And so the process repeated itself.

Until he had a very neat, wet clutch of five lovely pale blue shells and a wolf that could hardly look at him without blushing furiously.

All in all…

This really wasn’t  _so bad_ , was it?

That’s what Arthur thought as he fell asleep from exhaustion, curled up around his little collection with a blossoming fondness and a distinct feeling of satisfaction.

He was oblivious to the blanket pulled over him and the strangely tender kiss pressed to his forehead by a wolf that had a great deal of thinking to do.


	24. USUK Jealous Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "USUK with a jealous Iggy. - the crazygirlwhodraws"

It was absurd.

It was positively, undeniably, one hundred and ten percent absurd.

Ridiculous, really.  _Truly_. Nigh impossible. Unfathomable.

Arthur was,  _in no way_ , jealous of a kitten.

"Right. Well." He said, clearing his throat slightly. Alfred was settled on the dorm room bed with an enchanted look on his face as he cuddled a little bundle of fur, but at the sound of Arthur’s voice he glanced up. "So it was the second act that you were having trouble with?"

"Yeah." Alfred said. "Really the whole thing. I mean— I don’t get how we’re supposed to understand all this old timey English bullshit." He said, but although his words were directed at Arthur, he was completely transfixed with the kitten again, using his index finger to stroke it under the chin as it curled in his lap and purred.

Arthur stared, a sense of longing gripping him. It had remained there for the better part of the hour so far. “Alright, so…” He looked back at his book, but he could hear a happy little mew followed by Alfred chuckling. His grip tightened on his pencil. “So in the beginning of act two Katherine ties Bianca’s hands—,”

Alfred was laughing at something, the noise an infuriatingly obvious sign that he wasn’t even listening. Arthur stopped talking, feeling a rise of irrepressible fury.

After a moment, when Alfred didn’t even comment on his sudden silence, Arthur turned to look. He found Alfred leaning back now, the kitten trying to clamber its way onto his head in order to play with the little, errant lock of hair there. It reached out a curious paw and batted it, the golden strand swaying slighting from the disturbance.

… Arthur had always wanted to do that.

Had wanted to, but  _didn’t_ , because it just wasn’t  _like_  that between them. Alfred probably didn’t even swing that way and, regardless, if he  _did_  Arthur would have been a very poor choice indeed. His hair was never neat, he wasn’t particularly notable or attractive, and he apparently had eyebrows humorous enough to warrant a school-wide nickname— which had originated from Alfred himself.

_Caterpillar Face._

Was the man a bully or just stupid? Arthur desperately hoped for the latter. Yet as he turned to stare back down at the play in front of him, he found the longing feeling churn into something cold.

"… I’ve… got to be somewhere." He said quietly, beginning to pack up his things.

"What? Already?" Alfred asked— because of course  _now_  he would pay attention to him— now when Arthur wanted nothing more than to just be bloody well ignored. “You just got here.”

"No." Arthur said stiffly. "I’ve been here for nearly an hour."

"Wow." Alfred whistled. "Time sure flew, huh?" He laughed, loud and open, as if it were funny that he’d wasted so much of Arthur’s time by not paying attention to a single thing he’d said. He was sure, come Friday, the boy would return to him with a poor grade and a sad little puppy face and then Arthur would feel bad and agree to help him again later. And the process would start all over again.

Arthur didn’t say anything to him, merely shoving his things into his bag with a viciousness that was reserved for when he was particularly angry.

Alfred wasn’t completely blind, however. “Um, are you mad?” He asked, sounding confused about that fact.

"Not at all." Arthur replied, but his tone very much told the opposite. He could hear the bed creak behind him and he turned, ready to rip into the lad with his venomous tongue when—

 _Mew_.

It was a quiet sound, soft and tentative, and he startled at the sudden, light weight that was placed on his shoulder as something furry and  _alive_ began to sniff at his cheek.

He froze, turning his head very carefully to look at the kitten.

It was a white, puffy thing with a muddy brown patch around its neck and it had big, wide, open eyes.

It was still sniffing him, little ticklish wisps of fur and whiskers, and then it started on down his neck and he squirmed slightly, tickled and trying in vain not to show it.

A laugh sounded out from behind him at the display. “Your neck is ticklish?”

Damn that insufferable bastard being astute only when Arthur didn’t want him to be.

"N- no—," Arthur wriggled slightly as the kitten nuzzled him. "Just sensitive, alright. Isn’t everyone?" The neck was a very delicate piece of the human body, after all.

"Hmm." Alfred hummed. "Not as much as that, I don’t think."

Giving in, Arthur reached up to pluck the purring, mewing ball off of his shoulder. The kitten’s claws caught in the front of his jacket and it started trying to curl up against him with playful little flops of its tiny body.

Exhaling a laugh, Arthur nearly forgot about the boy behind him until—

"So… not mad anymore?"

The words were right next to his ear and Arthur jerked, looking up in surprise and finding a far, far too close face near his, blue eyes glimmering with mirth and lips tucked into a neat little smile that looked almost  _tender_.

"I— er— I…" He stammered, his own face turning red. All it would take is tilting his head up and they would be kissing…

He turned to look at the kitten.

"I… suppose not." He said. biting his lip slightly. "No."

It was hard to fight back when he was being ganged up on like this. As Arthur looked down at the kitten, it occurred to him that maybe this tiny creature wasn’t really  _competition_ …

Perhaps it was more accurate to say that it was an extension of its owner.

His heart thumped painfully in his chest as he gently held the creature closer, running the pad of his finger over its head and behind an ear, watching as it tipped into the touch and purred.

Yes.

Yes, he liked that idea.


	25. USUK Omegaverse Public Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How about some Omegaverse public claiming or public sex? - anon"

"You’re going into heat."

Arthur blinked, startled slightly. He hadn’t exactly expected that as a greeting. “I beg your pardon?”

Alfred stared at him, face drawn in a serious way. “You didn’t notice? You’re practically oozing scent right now.” The alpha said, his entire body visibly tensed.

The omega faltered at that, fretting slightly. “B- but you already bought the movie tickets!” He said, a creeping feeling of guilt latching onto him. This was  _supposed_  to be their date— Arthur’s way of making up for a bit of a row they’d had recently. And his boyfriend had been looking forward to this movie for over two months now too. It was the release day and he’d waited for hours in line to get tickets for the first showing…

Due to classes, Arthur had been physically unable to stand outside with him, so he’d driven there just an hour before the midnight viewing was supposed to begin…

Only to have Alfred drag him away from the crowd in an instant without saying a word.

Now, however, Arthur understood why.

"I- I… Alfred, I’m so sorry." He stammered, actually feeling rather emotional about all of this. This was _supposed_  to be a fun event. It had been  _such a big deal_ —…

His boyfriend had wanted to share with him something he enjoyed and here Arthur had ruined it, just like he did everything else. And he knew the alpha had been looking forward to having him here too— it had been all he could talk about for _weeks_.

At the silence, Arthur chanced looking up, but Alfred’s expression was sharp and he felt cut by it. The omega floundered, “You should still go. I know it’s not the same, but—,”

"No."

Arthur blinked, uncertain as to what the other male meant. “Pardon?”

Alfred glanced to the side, his eyes flickering to the crowd of people. None seemed all that concerned with the two of them. “I can watch the movie later.” He said, his tone still weighted and heavy in a way that made it impossible to argue with him.

Not that Arthur had ever let that stop him before, “B- but—,”

A hand snagged his wrist and Alfred started for the cars in the lot, dragging Arthur along behind him until they reached the alpha’s own vehicle. It was a nice ride, if a bit old, or _classic_ , as Alfred referred to it.

Arthur wasn’t sure what was going on, but he suspected at this point that it involved taking him home and then…

_Well_ …

Yet he was wrong, regardless, because Alfred unlocked the doors only to nearly shove him into the backseat, following in after.

Suddenly the omega realized what his plan was and held out his hands to push against the alpha’s chest. “N- no we can’t— not here— Alfred we haven’t even mated and—,”

"Do you want to mate with me?" Sky blues bored into him.

Arthur’s throat went dry. “I- I… I had considered such a thing…” He admitted. The vehicle smelled strongly of his boyfriend and the omega squirmed slightly, finally noticing the clear arousal of heat as it spiked up at the stimulation. “I mean…”

"Is that a yes?"

Swallowing, Arthur bit his lip and then, “Y- yes…” The word was breathed out, nearly inaudible. He still had enough of a mind to know that this was a sound decision, even if consummating it like this was rash. “We should really go back to your flat first and—,”

"Arthur."

The omega swallowed at the husky tone of the alpha hovering over him. “W- what—?”

"I can’t wait."

And then the alpha kissed him, long and hard as he pinned him down into the seat. The doors were all shut, yes, and the car was indeed locked from what Arthur had initially observed, but they were still in the middle of a rather busy parking lot. Alfred’s windows weren’t exactly  _tinted_ …

And yet that all melted away as the spiced, musky scent of alpha made his thoughts cease as his body turned to putty. His legs twitched apart of their own volition as he arched up with a sudden, desperate need to get more contact. As if sensing what he wanted, Alfred pressed down on him, passionate kiss dissolving into something of a feverish rut as slick started to seep through his trousers, damp and wet.

Alfred broke away with a gasp, his face flushed and eyes dark. “You smell divine,” He told him, taking to nuzzling at the omega’s neck for more whilst coating Arthur with his own scent. “Do you always smell like this during heat? I want to bottle it…” He practically purred.

"Sap." Arthur groused. This was technically  _pre-heat_ , so he wasn’t a writhing ball of nerves and slick _just yet_ , but that didn’t mean he had the energy to fight any of this. No— not when Alfred was nipping his neck like  _that_. The omega shivered.

"I wanna knot you…" Alfred told him, suckling at the spot beneath his ear as deft hands worked loose the smaller male’s trousers. He shifted Arthur’s legs so that both were curved awkwardly to the side of one of his hips, tugging up the pants. The omega gasped as he was exposed to open air and he heard a growl or something approving before the alpha started to finger his leaking hole. "You’re so wet now, babe."

It was unbelievably hard to think. Arthur mewled, trying to get comfortable as his shoes pressed into the side of the driver’s seat.

And then, without warning, he was being mounted in this funny position, Alfred’s pants practically still on even if the alpha’s cock was teasing his entrance and then—

— slowly sliding  _in_.

Arthur gasped, arching with a drawn out moan as he was filled, nerves firing off like lightning from the sensitivity of it all. He felt drunk yet alert, aware but beyond himself, and he moaned as Alfred tucked against his side to tease his neck with his teeth. At this rate that’s where the mate mark would  _have_  to end up because his shoulders were still covered by his shirt.

"Fuck— you feel so good…" The alpha told him, and Arthur preened inside, rocking back as he was thrust into, only half hearing the faint voices of people walking by. It made him feel a prickling sensation of unease, yet somehow that was exhilarating in its own way. It was dark, so no one could really see them clearly unless they deliberately looked inside, yet there was still that teasing little thought…

… that they could be  _caught_.

The omega gasped and bucked back against Alfred as a roll of euphoria washed through him. He’d hit something sensitive inside of Arthur and it was addictive, making hot white flashes spark in his brain as he tried to gain leverage against the cushion. The cool metal of a seat belt was digging into his arm but at this point he hardly even cared.

It was less a piston and more a desperate, antsy roll of hips as they moved against each other in waves— sea foam in the form of viscous lubricant that made lewd, wet noises as Alfred slid fully inside of him only to almost pull out and do it all again.

And then orgasm.

It took Arthur by surprise when a hand slipped down to grip his length, pumping him, and Alfred jerked his hips up to match that rhythm, making Arthur keen up into his palm. It took but a minute or so to coax him up into that blissful high, but then he was coming and it felt sharp, like a crescendo, a noise escaping him in a yell as Alfred bucked up into him, hard. And then his alpha was coming,  _knotting_ , and, with a rough movement, forcing down the collar of his shirt so that those delicate teeth could press down into the back of his neck.

The inside of the car was a cacophony of noise for all of a few moments before bliss sank down into reality, a heated tongue lapping at punctured skin and a dizzying stretch making it hard to think as his body was pushed to its very limits, the alpha’s girth locking them together as a steady trickle of semen was released into him with sporadic twitches.

They were sweating and panting and sated and everything smelled of sex and heat and alpha and it was so very risky yet so very, _very_  satisfying.

And then a sudden rapping came at the window and a gruff voice said through the glass, “Excuse me, sirs or madams, I’m with the county police. We’re gonna have t’ ask that you vacate these premises.”

Securely knotted together, Alfred and Arthur exchanged a look before the alpha exhaled a soft laugh that caused the omega to quietly giggle.

It was the absurdity of it all, really.


	26. USUK Cardverse Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cardverse! Some sweet, fluffy, just easy. Maybe a day off from all the paperwork and meetings? - prussians-little-master"

The ship rocked gently, the darkness of the night and the stillness of the water making a pleasant lull fall over the vessel. The Queen of Spades was hunched over a desk, a lantern illuminating the cabin.

“ _Come to bed_ …” Came a tired voice and the Queen raised a rather prominent brow at that, glancing up with mirth at the figure bundled in the sheets.

"We’ll be arriving tomorrow afternoon." Arthur, the Queen, said, voice carrying softly across the room. "We need to be adequately prepared."

A sigh. The King sat up, hair mussed and sleep addled. “You need to sleep too.” He pressed. “Come to bed with me. We never get to sleep with each other anymore.”

"Alfred…" The Queen breathed, looking over at him with open fondness.

"The meeting will be fine. Just come to bed." Looking like an overly large child, the King held out his hands as though to bid the Queen into them, his royal blue silk pajamas bunched on his muscular frame.

Arthur sighed, placing the pen down so as to not spill ink from the well, and stood. He’d long removed his hat and jacket and boots, but unlike Alfred he was not in pajamas. It seemed the man didn’t care as he pulled the Queen into bed all the same.

"Mmm…" The King hummed, clutching him close. "Missed you."

"Git." The Queen breathed. They’d been busy for weeks now and it was only by chance that they both needed to travel to the Kingdom of Hearts, yet even sharing this cabin had thus far only been a mess of paperwork for Arthur and Alfred wandering in to collapse upon the bed, dead to the world, but a few hours prior. "I missed you too."

"Mmm…" Those hands were beginning to get grabby, sliding up his hips and extracting his shirt from his waistband. He palmed at Arthur’s bare back. "I wanna have sex." He murmured dreamily.

The Queen’s lip quirked. “You’re half-asleep, love.” He told him, smoothing out some of his hair and noting with concern the bags under the King’s eyes. “You should get some rest.”

The soft whine that met him at that made him chuckle and he pressed a kiss to Alfred’s cheek.

"Sleep, dearest one." He told him.

Sad blue eyes looked up at him with reluctance. “I don’t like being apart from you…”

"I know, I know." The Queen said, smoothing circles over the larger man’s broad back. "We have much to do— no time for each other." And then, "But…"

Alfred perked at that, always curious. More so when Arthur used  _that_  particular tone. “But what?”

“ _Well_ …” Arthur hummed, his hand coming up to play with the short hairs at the back of the King’s neck, making him close his eyes with a contented sigh. “The Queen of Hearts said there would be a festival going on during my visit in his last letter. It’s a festival about, well,” he wrinkled his nose, humored, “love.”

"Oh?"

"We’re invited to attend." Arthur told him. "Discretely."

So not as public guests but rather two disguised individuals partaking in the merriment.

Alfred made a soft noise and grinned slightly, eyes still closed. “Yeah. That sounds nice. I wanna go with you.”

"Then go we shall." Arthur told him, pressing another kiss to his cheek. "For now, however, we must rest. There is precious little night left."

The King’s grip on him tightened.

"I’m not going anywhere." The Queen laughed softly, already trying to shirk his clothing despite the other’s arms. It didn’t matter if he wore his nightclothes or not, but wearing his regal attire to bed was less than desirable. Finally down to just a pair of underwear, he settled back and let his husband cling to him with needy, soft fingers.

"Sometimes I wish we weren’t the King and Queen…"

"Yet then we wouldn’t have met or married."

Alfred’s brow furrowed and he opened his eyes. “I’d come find you, then. And then marry you.”

Arthur regarded him warmly. “Would you now?”

"Yes."

"And how might you go about that?"

"Well…" Alfred said, thinking it over and still very much half-asleep. "We’re meant to be together, so I’d just know. I’d know where you were and I’d find you and then you’d know I was perfect for you and we’d marry."

Arthur flicked his nose affectionately, making the other man grunt in surprise. “You’re dreaming. Go to sleep.”

The King yawned, thick and tired, and snuggled closer. ” ‘kay…”

Since he’d forgotten to put the lantern out, the flame cast a warm glow about the room, making Alfred’s hair appear a spun gold. He watched him sleep for a time, until the oil was exhausted and the fire extinguished itself.

At some point that he couldn’t later recall, the Queen fell asleep, curled up in the arms of his King.


	27. USUK Two Americas Smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Polyamorous USUK porn! With two Americas as identical twins and England as their lover and they're so devoted to each other and very protective and possessive of Arthur. - dudewhyme"

There had always been two Americas.

For as long as England could recall, the boys had been identical in nature, dialect, disposition, and thought. Neither represented something the other didn’t, they just simply  _were_. And, as one of the largest countries, with twice the population of Russia, it made some sense that two minds had been employed for the purpose of personifying one designated land mass.

Or, at least, that’s how England thought of it, even if in all actuality that hardly managed to explain things.

Now, however, his thoughts were blissfully faraway as he leaned against the hotel lobby’s bar counter, the bartender sparing him a concerned glance when he suddenly grabbed France’s collar and started shaking him, threatening bloody murder. The other nation had tricked him into drinks, somehow, and now that he was completely pissed he found that the vile man had merely wanted to pry for details about his sex life with the Americas.

And ask if there was room for a fourth.

His shaking, however, faltered as a foreign hand caught his and gently pried loose his fingers. He knew that hand.

“ _England_ …” Came America’s soft voice— one of them, at least. A glance and he knew which one. It was hard to tell without looking, but one of the boys’ eyes was just faintly,  _faintly_ lighter than the other’s, if only by a very slight margin. “You’ve had a bit too much. Let’s go back to the room, alright…?” The larger nation said carefully.

The Englishman missed the frigid look of ‘back off’ America tossed France, too busied with the task of grabbing his coat off the back of the chair. “Oh, yes. Good. I— good.” England stammered, rising to his feet only to stumble.

"Watch out there, old man." Came a voice that was not from the first America, hands gripping him and holding him upright as he was tossed a brilliant grin by the second. "Don’t hurt yourself."

" ‘m not." England told him, frowning— although really it came off as a pout.

"Sure, sure…"

The two men escorted him back to their room. If anyone had wondered why it was that the America twins shared while the Italy brothers didn’t have to, they never said a word about it.

Most  _didn’t_  wonder.

"Wow, you’re really wasted aren’t you?" The darker-eyed America said, those ocean blues gleaming at him as he was lowered onto the bed.

"B- belt up, lad. I can hold m’ liquor." He told him, petulant as he fiddled with his buttoned shirt, fingers slipping off of the small, smooth bits. "Fuck!"

A laugh. “Here— I’ll get it.” The second America said, carefully freeing him from the clothing until the shirt was tossed somewhere that England didn’t care to think about.

The island nation breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a touch sweaty and overly warm. “Thank you.”

For a moment they moved around him, like cats, all smooth motions and languid shifts of bodies and coy looks.

England glanced between the two, brow furrowing. “What?”

"It’s been a while, England." One of the Americas said quietly, moving across the hotel bed to lean against him. "A really long time."

"Three months." The other one quipped, draping himself along the other side.

"Three really, _really_  long months.”

"Yeah."

"But we have tonight, don’t we?"

"Let’s do something fun."

The stereo voices made his head swim slightly, but between the alcohol and his lovers he found himself growing painfully hard embarrassingly quickly. “I- I suppose we can indulge…” He mumbled, his face feeling heated.

That was all the permission the two needed as one America pulled him into a kiss while the other went for his trousers.

You’d think between the two boys there would have been conflict—jealousy—but no. Strangely, a relationship with both had come easily, each working in tandem as though they were a single entity. It didn’t matter if one kissed more or one fucked more— they both enjoyed it just as much as if they, themselves, had taken part.

And England was their toy, in a way. Their plaything. They batted him around like a mouse between cats and he found himself loving it so, despite it all. And in turn they loved him. They were sweethearts, really, especially when they were filling him.

And they were  _his_  darlings, even if sometimes he wanted to throttle the both of them for being so insufferably  _daft_.

Suddenly a hot mouth was enveloping his cock and England groaned into the kiss, breaking away to level a heated look at the other America who was bobbing his head along his length as though it were the most delicious thing he had ever had the pleasure of sucking on. That America broke off with a pop, grinning up at him. “You got hard so quickly, I couldn’t resist.” He said, shameless.

The America at his side was kissing at his neck now, nipping and suckling and mouthing the skin beneath his ear and making England’s body turn to jelly.

"Mmm…" That America purred, turning his head to look at the other one. "Want to make England feel good?" He asked him, playful.

"I was already thinking about that…" The America hovering over his legs said.

"What are you two on about—?" England nearly slurred, peering at them. He was a bit too drunk to puzzle out their games at the moment, which they seemed quite happy with because it meant playing with him was that much easier.

"Gonna make you explode stars and stripes." The one near his ear laughed.

England frowned at that, but wasn’t about to argue. And then he was distracted away from that comment as they started to shift again, moving him and positioning him until they had the nation right where they wanted.

One suddenly had lube-slicked fingers prodding him open and England keened airily, tipping his head back and finding feverish lips upon his own. A hand was stroking his cock and another tweaking his nipples and he quivered at the sheer volume of stimulation, arching up hotly as a nimble digit stroked his prostate.

"Fuck, he’s sexy tonight."

"He’s drunk so he’s not thinking about how loud he is…"

"It’s hot."

"Yeah, it is."

"Let’s wake up the whole floor."

"Sounds great."

England gasped, wondering mindlessly when the kissing had stopped and the banter had begun, but it didn’t really matter because he was being stretched and scissored as they pulled him back and moved him until he was kneeling, the fingers in his arse moving at a blessedly rough pace.

"Think he’s ready?"

"Just a bit more…"

"Okay."

England was being kissed again and he moaned into it as a third finger was pressed inside of him, the amount necessary in order to prepare him for America’s girth.

"I think that’s good enough."

The one kissing him broke away with a soft laugh, pressing a butterfly kiss to his cheek before pushing him so that he was upright, back straight.

The America behind him was dragging him onto his lap, cock head teasing England’s arse and making him hiss in anticipation before pressing in, in,  _in_  and filling him—stretching him—and making his back arch even in this funny position. Strong hands were gripping his hips from behind, keeping him fully lowered as a sheath, before there was a sudden roll and that beautiful dick jerked up into him with an impressive amount of force.

"O- oh  _god_ …” England gasped.

The America behind him picked up a good, even pace as he fucked England, making the older nation moan as that strong pelvis worked him over. The America in front of him watched for a bit, bright-eyed and naked, and England realized with wonder that the two had shed clothing at some point and he hadn’t even noticed.

"You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous." The America in front of him said, all muscle and sun-kissed skin and waxen hair and he kissed him hard for a moment before peppering his lips down his jaw and neck and chest and…

And then that hot, wet mouth was teasing the head of his cock, tongue swirling over the sensitive flesh before engulfing him fully. He arched into it only to gasp as the America behind him bucked up, forcing the one at the front to deep throat him.

"We’ve been planning this for a while." The one behind murmured into his ear, voice husky and breathless. "Wanted to see how loud we could make you scream."

“ _C- Christ_.” England gasped, tantalized by the two. Cursed minxes, the both of them.

A laugh in his ear was all he got for that as the two nations went to work on him. The mouth on his length was decidedly skillful, suction and heat and tongue and little, tiny glances of teeth. England was limp and pliant as he was fucked, needing to waste no effort to move because, of course, they took care of that for him. And so he  _did_  get loud, breathy wailings and gasped, choked moans like songs on his lips as he was thoroughly ravished.

His orgasm came almost violently, tearing through him with what could have been called a scream as he came, that delectable mouth swallowing down every last drop with a sinful enthusiasm.

Yet it wasn’t over, it seemed, because as that America pulled back, releasing his wilting cock with a satisfied smack of his lips, they shifted him again.

England was brought onto his knees and presented with the one before him’s cock, the head pressing to his lips. He quickly allowed it entrance, a sick sense of heat pooling in him at being so thoroughly used. He loved this kind of debauchery and they both knew it— teased him for it…

But indulged him all the same.

And so the rhythm picked up anew, this time his own throat deeply fucked as one America jerked into him with rough, quick strokes and the other gripped his hair, tugging it just enough to feel pleasantly painful.

It was motion and wetness and  _being filled_  all at once and then the two Americas came together, the one in his arse filling him with milky seed as the one in his mouth let him suck off the first few spurts before pulling out with a jerk so that semen dribbled down his lips and splashed onto his cheek in thick, painted lines.

They collapsed together after that, a panting, sated mess, but not before the Americas pulled England up to rest snugly between them, possessive arms curled around him like twin guardians.


	28. USUK Nipple Fixation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Could you do USUK nipple fixation? (Arthur being the one with the sensitivity. - anon"

Alfred shifted his fingers.

Arthur squirmed.

It was an interesting reaction, to say the least, because Arthur was Arthur. Arthur was a crotchety old geezer in the body of a high school student who didn’t have time for fun or games or dating and yet he’d just  _barely_  made an exception for that last one because Alfred was persistent and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

At least, not when he knew full well that Arthur had liked him all along, which, really, was a recently discovered fact aided by the coveting of a certain small, leather bound journal with delicate, bird scritched writing and far too many little hearts on certain pages that bespoke of a good deal more swooning than Alfred truly thought Arthur capable of.

That had been a good day for Alfred, to say the least.

And now he had his boyfriend pinned to the couch in the student council president’s prestigious little office and, yes,  _yes_ , the door’s locked, don’t you worry your fluffy little brows over it, no one’s gonna come in and catch you with your pants down Artie.

And yet Alfred suddenly wasn’t as interested in the presumed rutting and frotting and maybe, just maybe, sex, because now he had a pink little nub between his fingers, which he had grabbed on a whim just to tease the smaller male, and yet he couldn’t quite let go because…

Because when he shifted his fingers _just so_ —yes, yes, like that—Arthur let out a little, pleasured squeak that was lewd enough to make Alfred flush red and cute enough to make his mind sputter to life with flowery affection.

Arthur wasn’t normally  _cute_ , so to speak. He was formidable and grouchy and a bit of an ass and he had damn good legs but he wasn’t exactly… cute. Not all the time, at least. Catching him being cute was like catching sight of a falling star. It wasn’t something that could really be forced unless you were extremely patient— but if you  _did_  see it, by accident that is, you felt extremely grateful for some reason.

And now was one of those rare, starry-eyed moments and Alfred swiped his tongue out over his lip and twitched his fingers again.

“ _Ahh_ — ha… S- stop that!”

Alfred grinned. “Yeah, no, not gonna happen.” He told his boyfriend bluntly, because when he teased that pink little nub he could feel his boyfriend arch into it, and anything that made him look that disheveled was a sin to let go to waste.

"Git, I—  _heeee ee_ …” Arthur writhed, unprepared for Alfred’s new assault tactic— his mouth now encompassing the small bead of sensitivity and rolling it around in his mouth and suckling it.

He could hear Arthur panting, the council president tilting his hips up—oh god,  _rocking_  even—with breathless little sighs that lilted off of his lips like music. He wasn’t fighting it at all, which meant that secretly he enjoyed this but was too embarrassed to admit it.

Alfred mused on the lewd as he moved a free hand to tweak the other hard nipple.

"Oh, _Christ_ , I- I…" Arthur gasped. He only ever sounded that undone when he was being finger fucked, so Alfred knew he couldn’t let this little detail go. No, this was too amazing.

How wonderful might it be to set up one of those little vibrators all taped up to his chest like in some of those books Kiku had leant him? And just have him wander around, constantly stimulated? He’d probably come in his pants before the school day was over.

Gosh, now he really _did_  want to fuck him on this couch…

"Jonesss…" Arthur hissed, his hands digging into Alfred’s hair now in what was usually a secretly pleading manner. He’d noticed that the other male would do it whenever he didn’t quite want to admit he enjoyed something but wanted it to keep going all the same. "S- so help me-  _eehh_ … i- if you tell,  _ahh_ , anyone about this, I’ll—,”

Alfred released the nipple, pulling away to view the flushed mess of a boyfriend he’d created, secretly pleased at the little, unintentional noise of dismay that left Arthur’s lips. “Why would I tell anyone? I’m the only one who should see this side of you.” He said, grinning.

Arthur regarded him for a moment. “You’re no angel.” He muttered tersely.

"Who ever said I was one?" Alfred positively beamed.

And then he hopped up onto his feet, amused at the way Arthur stared after him in horror. “Where are you going?” He balked.

Alfred just wriggled with mirth and pointed to the clock. “Lunch is over in five minutes, dude. You need to pay more attention.”

Yes, he’d literally just spent a good thirty minutes working up his boyfriend into a frothy, foaming mess and he knew Arthur knew it and Arthur knew he knew Arthur knew it.

A short, accented curse had the council president doing up his shirt and fumbling, a very rigid tent in his pants.

"You’re a devil." Arthur accused.

Alfred shifted back and forth on his feet. “Yeah, so, remember when you said you had a meeting tonight so you couldn’t come over even though I asked _oh-so-nicely_  and you  _really_ don’t have to go to those meetings anyway but you do because it’s proper or whatever which I think is bullshit…?”

"…" His boyfriend peered at him suspiciously. "Was there a question in there?"

"My parents won’t be home tonight and Matt’s gonna be out with that Russian girl or whatever so…"

Arthur’s eyes glared daggers at him for what felt like an entire minute. “I hate you.”

"I’ll meet you after school, then?"

"… Yes."


	29. USUK Zombie Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Could I request a bit of a zombie apocalypse USUK? - flamingoflamel"

"Runner number one?"

"…"

"Runner number one?"

"…"

A sigh. “Alfred?”

"What?"

The accented voice over the headset made a gutted noise like a cat choking on a hairball, “Don’t play games with me while you’re in the field, prat!”

Alfred laughed, jogging at a light pace as the compound grew further and further away. “Is it so hard to just call me by my name, Arthur?” He asked, not even panting. There was a reason, after all, that he was runner number one.

"It’s a breech of protocol, is what." And breeches of protocol got people killed. "Now just head south a little further. There’re zom’s around the area, but we can’t risk losing the supply pack to Frogsville."

Alfred grinned to himself. “They’re called New Canton. What happened to protocol?”

"Belt it, lad, I’m the one giving orders here." The voice over the headset said.

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, so what’ve we got out here, anyway? Isn’t this risky for just a little ol’ supply pack."

Arthur made a noise over the radio transmission. “Yes and no.” He admitted.

"Huh." Alfred said, jogging along. "Explain."

"The pack is a fresh drop, of course. It has food in."

Alfred’s interest was perked, but so was his suspicion. “Food and—?”

"…" Arthur was quiet a moment or two. "Food and medicine."

"… And—?"

"… And some gents' mags…"

"Arthur are you seriously sending me out here for porn?" Alfred groaned. "I’m risking my life, dude!"

"We  _need_  the other supplies, Alfred! I’m not that desperate for pretty birds. If I wanted to wank off I’d just have to look at runner number three—,”

Alfred silently agreed— running plus a sports bra equaled a pretty nice combination.

"—so anyway, the point is that there are supplies and we could, well, use them. So go get them."

"Yessir." Alfred grouched, no respect in his words as he darted down an incline and through some bushes.

He was surprised by the inhuman groan that was far too close to his side for good measure and he ducked away just in time to hop light-footed from the common shambler. The zombie made a noise like a growl and followed after, but he could hardly keep pace. “Shit, Artie, warn me ahead of time!”

"Sorry, sorry— couldn’t see ‘im for the bush. Watch out ahead, though, they really love the forest these days. The trees give ‘em shade and keep ‘em from rotting too quick."

"I know." Alfred complained. "I’m not a noob."

"Yeah, well, I don’t know what you  _do_  and  _don’t_  know, so I’m telling you anyway. We can’t have our best runner get turned.”

Alfred preened slightly—

—and almost ran into another zombie.

This time he had to duck around a tree to keep it from getting a successful grasp on him and he turned his senses back to his surroundings and away from the man on the other end of the transmission whom he’d really like to lay one of these days. “So how much further?”

"Not far. Maybe fifty or so meters?"

"How do you say that in freedom?"

"For god’s sake, Alfred, this isn’t America— there isn’t even _an America_  anymore—,”

"Yeah, whatever." Alfred kind of knew what distance that was, if only because Arthur refused to use the more logical measurement of feet and they’d been paired enough that he could sort of guess at it.

"Shit." The curse caught his attention like nothing else would.

"What?"

"You’re being surrounded. I don’t know why, but they seem to be closing in on you."

"Oh." Alfred frowned. "Shit."

"Indeed. If you can get in and shoulder the pack, I can lead you out, but you might need to defend yourself from the quicker ones. You have the hand gun?"

"Always."

"Alright. Use liberally, Alfred. We’re not losing you to this shite."

Alfred grinned. “My favorite order.” He quipped.

Spotting the bag at last, he managed to run and snag it without slowing his pace, ears pricked for groans or orders and eyes scanning his surroundings.

"Veer right and then curve up north once you hit the river. The concentration is lowest there."

"Cool." Alfred said, starting in that direction at a sprint. This was where the real test of endurance came in. he pulled his gun from its holster, preparing to shoot anything in his way.

A bullet here.

One there.

His heart was thudding but two rotting bodies fell in the summer sun, the breeze kicking up the scent of the dead that he was too damned used to by now. His aim was still pretty sharp though. Good.

He found the river and started up north, aware that this was an easy way to get pinned…

But the area was also clear of trees, so the creatures that darted out after him were more easy to spot. He shot one, cursed as the bullet missed, and shot again. It fell.

He bolted.

Alfred wasn’t a particularly brave man, but he was fast and experienced and that got you pretty damn far in this world. He was number one. He had to stay number one.

Too many people relied on him for him to be anything else.

"Alfred watch out—!"

A body snagged him from behind and he kicked out blindly, relieved when it released. He ran—  _fast_. Whatever had caught up to him wasn’t like the rest and he could hear gravel crunching behind him from its steps. It was quick as hell and he’d bet anything it was a former runner.

"Bloody hell, it’s runner number two…" Arthur breathed, sounding choked. "Alfred, run! You know how fast he was!"

_Of course_  Alfred did. He’d been the prior number one. He’d taught Alfred everything he knew.

His chest ached, but there was no time for sympathy now. No. He had to keep going. His feet flew over the ground like the wind and he was careful not to trip or do something else equally stupid or clumsy. That’s how the best always went down—

Not in the heat of battle, but with a miscalculated stumble.

"God, just run straight! Keep moving! The snipers at the gate’ll get him!  _Run_ , Alfred!”

What the fuck did Arthur think he was doing!? Either way there was no time to snap back a witty reply. He couldn’t afford the distraction. And there was no time to turn and shoot either. He’d need to rely on the guards to bring this one down.

God… runner number two…

This world was so cruel…

The gate appeared before him and Alfred flinched at the sound of gunfire, but he didn’t stop. Not until he was safely within the walls of the compound, the gate lowering, indicating his safety. His breathing was harsh and his heart beat rapid and there were tears pricking his eyes. He shrugged off the pack and left it in the courtyard, already heading for the showers. Cold or not, he wanted to wash away what had just happened.

"Alfred…" The voice from his headset startled him and Alfred hesitated a moment before,

"… Yeah?"

"…" Silence. Pained. And then, "Good work."

Alfred smiled sadly to himself at the silent message.

_'Thanks for coming back alive.'_

"No problem, Artie."

He was runner number one.

Too many people relied on him for him to be anything else.


	30. USUK Plumber Alfred "Fixes the Pipes"...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Porn addict Arthur is excited to call over the Jones plumbing services now that he has seen Alfred, the 24/7 on-call plumber. Not only will his pipes get fixed, but there's a chance his plumber/owner sexy fantasy might come true... - turtlelikelemon"

Arthur had had a nickname in high school.

Despite his immaculate attendance, his outstanding academic record, and his involvement in volunteer work, his peers had simply known him as  _the Erotic Ambassador_.

The reasoning behind this was that he was an exchange student and he’d been caught once with a boy’s mag in his maths book. Still, it earned him the nickname regardless, and he lived with that fact for a good three years, ready to tear apart anyone who dared call him it to his face if only to maintain appearances.

Yet that didn’t make it not true.

Oh, on the contrary, Arthur fancied that he was far, _far_ more perverse than any of his peers could have possibly imagined and that didn’t exactly change once he had gone off to university. He had more porn than your average twenty-something could reasonably conjure up and it was all quality stuff too. He’d been collecting it for a good ten years.

So, in all actuality, the title of Erotic Ambassador didn’t really bother Arthur at all.

No, he rather thought it a very excellent description, completely befitting of his person. Indeed, he was something of an Erotic Ambassador, bringing a little _English tea_ , so to speak, to a mass of thirsty Americans.

And he became content as time went by, but, as with all things, he started to entertain himself with ideas of the novel.

It had all started one rather unpleasant afternoon when he’d come back to his flat to find that the pipe had burst while he was at work. He had to immediately call in a professional to fix it, threatening up and down if they didn’t have someone there within the half hour.

Twenty-seven minutes later there was a knock at his door.

"About bloody time." Arthur hissed, stalking across wet carpet to wrench the door open, "I was about to consider you late! You’re lucky y—…" Words died in his throat.

"Hey, uh… Sorry." The man standing there said. He had  _tight_  blue jeans and a dark work shirt that was only half tucked into his waistline. The bag slung over his shoulder was full of a mess of tools and supplies.

Yet that wasn’t nearly so distracting as the fact that he was a dashing blond fellow with a thin layer of glass over sky blue eyes and pearly white teeth that gave him what could only be described of as a flawless smile.

Arthur wasn’t quite sure what to say in the face of all this aside from the fact that he no longer felt quite so angry about the fact that his carpet was soaked through and would likely need to be replaced.

The plumber’s visit was, well, interesting to say the least. And not at all unpleasant. The water to his unit had been shut off and the pipe would need to be replaced but Arthur didn’t really care too much about all of that anymore. No, not at all. Not when a man with Alfred stitched neatly onto his shirt was bent over, arse in the air, meddling with an assortment of metal rods.

Arthur almost felt remorse at the fact that he’d fixed the issue all in one go, having conveniently had the supplies on hand to do so. He didn’t much know about these things himself, but he had thought something that had caused him this much grief would be a bit, well, more difficult to tackle.

But, alas, Alfred was apparently extraordinarily efficient.

And over the next few months, as everything that was damaged was replaced or fixed, Arthur’s mind continually drifted back to the man in tight jeans. He’d waltzed into Arthur’s life and then right back out again and the Erotic Ambassador found himself pining for something a little…  _more_.

It occurred to him one day what it was that he wanted to do.

A phone call. That’s all it took. Just one little phone call. A, “Hello, do you recall when my pipe burst? Ah, yes, I’d like to thank the man who fixed it and ask him some questions. Tomorrow evening? Oh, yes, if you’re sure he’s willing to come during his off hours? Ah, he’s on call. I see. No, I don’t mind the visitation cost. Oh, thank you. I appreciate this.”

The next day, forty-three minutes after six, a knock came at his door.

And there stood Alfred, still sporting sinfully tight jeans and a loosely tucked in work shirt. He had his bag again, likely a just-in-case if one of Arthur’s questions might happen to be about an issue with the repair.

"So, um… you wanted to see me?" Alfred said hesitantly, walking in and peering around. "Wow, this place looks a lot better when it’s not flooded." He joked.

"Indeed— and yes, I did." Arthur told him, shutting the unit’s door as he entered.

"You know, I don’t usually do follow up calls like this." Alfred hummed. "But I was worried maybe it’d started leaking again?"

"No, nothing of that sort." Arthur said, walking into his kitchen with Alfred on his heel. The plumber glanced at the sparkling sheen of tiled flooring, brow furrowed at the lack of anything to analyze. No water, no mess, no problem.

So then why was he here?

Arthur could practically hear him thinking this.

"To be honest, Alfred, I called you because I’ve been having a bit of an issue with something else entirely."

The man laughed, “Oh, well, I can’t fix it for free or anything. I’m sorry— I don’t know who told you that I’d—,”

"You haven’t heard me out yet." Arthur said, leaning against the counter.

And then he neatly perched himself on the counter’s edge, crossing one leg over the other and leaning forward with his elbow crooked on his knee. He was all slacks and jumper and crisp, dark shoes, but it was an appearance that always seemed to scream  _English Gentleman_  and it often worked in his favor to play that bit up.

Alfred was eyeing him with open confusion now.

"I did a little poking around online after you left." Arthur said smoothly, watching as Alfred’s full attention turned to him, the man raising a brow. "You’re not subtle in the slightest." He laughed.

The plumber grinned. “Yeah, subtlety has never been my strong suit.”

Tight jeans.

Shirt tucked a certain way. A distinct way. A way that said—

_I’ll fix more than just the kitchen sink._

It was a lewd, underground scene of trade workers. The old pornographic scenario— invite someone over to deliver something or fix something and here was this tantalizing little bonus of being bent over your own furniture by a complete stranger.

Arthur uncrossed his legs and spread them, feet dangling over the edge of the counter.

"You’re not exactly subtle either." Alfred quipped, dropping his bag and closing the short distance between them.

The Englishman gave him a coy smile. “What gave me away?”

Alfred laughed. “Water’s a reflective surface. I could see you staring at my ass the entire time I was here. I damn well thought you’d jump me.” The plumber’s expression turned forlorn. “Imagine my disappointment when you didn’t.”

"I needed you to fix my pipes." Arthur told him, leaning back slightly as Alfred leaned in towards him, effectively pinning him. "And now I need you to fix a different sort."

The plumber rolled his eyes. “As though I haven’t heard that a million times.”

Arthur’s eyes glimmered. “Then I’ll have to assume you’ve brought the right tools for the job.”

"Of course." Alfred said easily. "What do you think’s in my bag."

"Oh." Arthur crooned. "Oh, ho, ho… I  _like_  you.”

Needless to say, his pipes were fixed so hard that he had trouble walking for three days.


	31. USUK Omegaverse Cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Alfred enjoying embracing Arthur. - empressvegah"

Alfred had never really bought into the whole omegas being soft and cuddly and adorable thing.

Perhaps that was because, for as long as he could recall, he was only interested in an omega who was anything _but_  soft and cuddly and was, instead, actually incredibly prickly and standoffish with slightly broader, more masculine shoulders and a little less weight than was preferable and somewhat bony hips and, okay, yeah, maybe he’d peaked a bit that one time he’d caught the other male without his shirt but, regardless, he couldn’t help the fact that his preferences were tailored from a very young age.

So then why was it only just now, when they were mates, that he realized how wrong he’d been all along?

They were curled together in bed, the alpha spooned with the omega against his chest, and everything was quiet and calm and peaceful and, really, just wonderful. It was a rainy afternoon and they were staying in England in an old house that Arthur’s somewhat prestigious family was letting them use while they sorted out some international paperwork regarding their relationship, and after a nice, eager bout of travel sex they’d come to relax on the grand old guest bed, alone with the pitter-patter on the roof and the sound of their own breathing.

Arthur looked so peaceful like this too. He wasn’t asleep, no, but the omega wasn’t quite awake either, instead slipping into that dreamy lull of the in between, where thoughts drifted in lazy circles in a head full of warmth and fluff.

And, naturally, they were naked. There was no one here and nothing to hide and they were a bit sticky from their prior antics, but it was entirely too comfortable like this.

Alfred found his hand making lazy passes along the curve of the omega’s side, his palm traveling down the slope of his chest and stomach and then up over a jutted hip. It wasn’t like his hips were _bony_ , no, they just came out as though as a second thought, advertising a fertility that the rest of him seemed to be slightly opposed to. And the alpha knew just how much that angled pelvis would make his ass sway when they were walking, too.

Yes, he very much liked these hips.

He found his hand lingering there, mapping every tiny little curve and dip of the bone, tracing and lining it out underneath his fingers, fascinated and enamored all at once, until Arthur shifted slightly with a noise and murmured, “What are you on about there?”

Alfred chuckled. “I like your hips.” He said, tipping his head up to nip the omega’s earlobe.

Arthur’s silent annoyance smoothed out as he moved to allow the alpha more room to pepper his neck with kisses, which Alfred took to without even being asked, throwing in a nip here and there for good measure. The omega’s neck was incredibly sensitive, after all, and even if Arthur wouldn’t admit it, he positively adored the attention.

"My hips, hm?" The omega asked quietly, not sounding at all bothered, while normally he would have at least been slightly irked.

"I like them." Alfred continued, knowing that the compliment would stick. Arthur always held onto little things like that. It was a shame that his self-esteem was so low, but at the same time Alfred was very nearly certain that the omega could pull out every compliment he had ever given him, as though they were treasured keepsakes kept in a box.

"I see." Arthur said, not bothering to ask as Alfred went back to massaging his side and hip, now even smoothing his palm over the dip where it transitioned into thigh.

His skin was soft and that was one thing that had very nearly surprised Alfred because it was an _omega’s_  softness, through and through, and the kind that made him feel like the body in his arms was delicate and needed protection. Arthur had never complained about it, but he knew it bothered him slightly, if only because he wasn’t entirely comfortable with his position in society as an omega.

Or, rather, it had bothered him _before_  they had become mates. Now, however, they were too focused on other things, like planning out when they should stop taking preventative pills during heats and settle down. Skin softness was no longer so much of a worry.

But it  _was_  soft.  _Really_  soft. Alfred pressed his cheek to that slight shoulder and nibbled his teeth on the pale, delicate curve. Even if they were a little broad for an omega, they still settled quite neatly into the range of normalcy for  _male_  omegas, and they were far, far smaller than Alfred’s.

Arthur released a noise that sounded like a soft hiss, fidgeting in his grasp. “Are you trying to rile me into a second round?” He asked, suspicious.

Alfred grinned against the skin, working his canine into the ivory softness. “Maybe.” He said quietly.

"You’re terrible." Arthur sighed, but it was a noise that said that the alpha had already won.

"But I’m yours." He pointed out.

He earned a breath and a soft laugh for that one as Arthur turned over in his arms, bright eyes glimmering at him in the dim lighting. “Yes.” The omega practically purred, affectionate. “You are.”

Alfred smiled at that and drew him in close for a kiss.


	32. USUK Dragon!Alfred and Thief!Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hoarding dragon!Alfred and theif!Arthur. - mayugehero"

The moonlight pools through the trees in dappled rays of milky white and Arthur finds himself musing that it’s a good night to make himself a lot of money.

The map in his hands is firm and crisp and old and real and he looks it over with his lantern, clucking his tongue as he peers up at the mountain that towers over him like a monument to the gods themselves. He can climb the rocky slate and find nothing or even fall to his death, but he feels lucky.

He extinguishes the flame and ties the lantern to his small pack, the metal sloshing with oil that he hopes doesn’t spill as he finds purchase and begins the steady climb upwards and up, up, _up_  he goes, cliff after cliff, hands raw rubbed by the stone, little scrapes here and there that’ll heal poorly if they’re not disinfected and treated with care.

But he’s a thief and this is his life and his hands are firm but deft, soft but strong, and eventually he reaches a cave mouth so high up that the air feels thin and unnatural in his throat, like he’s breathing in a gas of sorts. Or perhaps he’s imagining it. Yet glancing down he finds the height oddly dizzying, so maybe he’s not.

It’s all worth it though, because he _is_  lucky. So, so lucky. Hills of gold that sparkle with gems like the sky might with stars meets him a short distance in and his mouth falls open in shock. Even just the smallest amount of this would leave him settled for the rest of his mortal life and he’s quick to peruse the wares, a little buzzing in the back of his mind warning him that this is all a little too easy.

And it _was_  too easy.

Because as he turns to leave, a pack full of coins and glimmering sapphire-studded necklaces, he finds a face staring at him that is not so much human as it is scaled and large and interested.

Dragon.

Its eyes are like blue fire and it watches him, the irises shifting and changing size due to the light from the lantern, gold body as beautiful as it is ethereal, a being a thousand times the worth of its glimmering bed.

It snuffs at him what Arthur can only imagine is a laugh, a little plume of smoke curling into the air before dissipating as it tips its head one way and then the other.

Arthur’s not sure whether he wants to run or stare at this being forever and he’s irreversibly torn between the two.

"You are a thief…" It says—the dragon, that is—its voice deep and grumbled like heated lava, lips moving to form words in a way Arthur can’t rightly understand. "… aren’t you?"

Charming and fearless he may be, but even Arthur realizes that he can’t lie here. Not when he’s staring up at the face of death with a sack full of treasure.

"I am." He says, and his voice is firmer than his heart is steady, he finds.

"Honest." The dragon hums, shifting forward on its bed. Gold glimmers in waves as it spills out from beneath it—from on top of it—like rain made of sunlight.

Arthur feels it growing ever closer but his legs are jelly and he realizes that he is either going to die by those teeth or run only to fling himself off the cliff’s edge to his death and, quite honestly, neither sound very appealing.

Somehow he’s still alive though and he silently marvels at that fact even as the dragon shifts closer, almost cautious, the enormous beast peering at him with intense interest. Arthur raises his lantern higher, the shadows around its great face dancing away as the scales of its muzzle shine like a euphoric melody put to jeweled life. He feels awed and frozen.

The dragon, too, stills, and a sudden, “ _Ohh_ …” noise rumbles forth from its chest and in all of an instant a claw has Arthur pinned, the lantern falling to its side, the glass case cracking and, despite it all, the flame stays lit. The beast’s face is so close it makes his eyes cross to look at it.

"Lovely…" The dragon purrs approvingly and suddenly the claws are gone only to be replaced by teeth as the creature gingerly lifts him by his shirt, ignoring the lantern that flickers away and dies just as Arthur’s freedom has.

"I- I don’t want to die! Please!" Arthur finds himself saying in what he believes to be his last moment. Pathetic at best, but his mortal mind races with imaginings of bone crushing between white fangs and that’s all he can think of.

The dragon chortles and settles on its bed of gold, the gleaming metal shifting around it as it makes itself comfortable. “Silly human, I’m not going to eat you.” It says, humor audible in its voice as it relaxes and nestles Arthur into the crook of its long, large forearm.

He scrambles at first, unsteady, but that muzzle nudges him into place against the almost too-warm flesh of its hide until he stills, like a babe in its mother’s arms.

"I’m keeping you." The dragon announces happily—suddenly—lowering its long neck, head turned just so. It’s so dark that Arthur has trouble making shapes out but those eyes glow brightly at him.

He swallows, uncertain. “You’re… You’re _keeping_  me—?” He ventures, wary.

"Oh, yes." The dragon quips easily, casually. "You have a peculiar loveliness, mortal." It continues, pleased but feral and warning all the same. "I am a collector. And you," it preens, "are now a part of my hoard."

A prized jewel.

A treasure.

Arthur had gone into the cave with the intention of looting the contents, but instead he, himself, was seized.

What great irony he thinks as he settles in for a sleepless night, resigned but alive.

Tomorrow he’ll escape, he tells himself, but eventually he does fall into slumber, lulled by the soft breathing of the warm creature, and by morning he finds himself unable to part with it.

He tells himself that it’s not because it had snuggled up to him over the course of the night like an overly large child, muzzle pressed gently and trustingly to his side.

But it is.


	33. USUK Blind Omega!Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How about omegaverse USUK with a blind, omega Arthur? - iggycat"

For as long as he can remember, the world has been a lightless, colorless, mental blur of feeling and sense and sound and Arthur is relatively okay with this.

It’s just how the world is for him and he thinks, with some mirth, that other people are so used to their sight that they simply can’t understand it. And they can’t understand why he might find the darkness comforting in its own special little way, because he’s not afraid of the dark— his world  _is_  the dark.

He fancies he lives in the shadows and people tend to enjoy ignoring him, forcing their attention away from the blind omega with the black glasses and the thin cane and the big, cheerful golden retriever named Lolly who likes him well enough but always tenses up, her scent turning wary, at anyone looking at the two of them for too long.

Despite his own internal happiness, he knows society is less kind than his self-esteem and he realizes that he’s nineteen now, unmated, and that’s pretty significant because he’s not getting any younger but no one wants the mother of their children to be  _blind_  and on some level he understands the unnecessary fear even if it haunts him late into the night, when the lights are out but he can’t tell because he can’t see them he can only just feel that they stop emitting a subtle sort of heat.

He expects he’ll never have a mate, but he’s well enough on his own. His family saw him as a burden, so he moved out. They send him money and he accepts it without question, because he’s the broken little omega and they want to deny that he exists.

But at least he has Lolly and so he thinks he’s okay.

Yet even that, it seems, is fleeting.

It’s a Friday and he’s going to the local bookstore to purchase a new book. He indulges in one a week, sparing precious grocery money for it, because braille electronic readers aren’t a thing yet but they bloody well should be.

And then it happens and it’s so sudden he almost has a hard time comprehending what really occurred.

A car doesn’t stop as he’s crossing the street and Lolly loses her wits barking at him, pressing him back, back,  _back_  and then there’s the sound of tires squealing and a thump and a whine and the leash is pulled clean from his hand and he knows what happened even if he doesn’t want to know but  _he knows_.

And he screams and he fumbles and somehow,  _somehow_ , he finds the limp, soft-furred body of his only friend but there’s something wet on his hands too and he smells the heavy scent of blood and hears the sad, scared whine and he knows that Lolly is going to die.

People are yelling and he’s not sure what gives away his blindness but someone is pulling him out of the road—an alpha—and he smells of grease and musk and spiced pine and something else and Arthur’s not sure why but it’s the last straw and he breaks down in the stranger’s arms and cries on the sidewalk, blessedly unable to see the worried stares of strangers that he’s sure are surrounding him because the stranger is saying over and over, “Give him room! Give him room!”

His name is Alfred.

Arthur learns it after, somehow, but it’s all sort of a blur. The stranger asks where he lives and he’s too distraught to really say so Alfred asks if he’s going to be okay and he shakes his head and the alpha decides then and there to take him back to his apartment.

Arthur falls asleep carried on his back, exhausted and haunted by the thought of his one friend dying— _dead?_ —in the road. Yet they wouldn’t let him go back to her and a police officer gave him a card and a paramedic checked him and he’s sent away with a blanket and mutters of the word shock.

He ends up in a unit that smells of the alpha so truly that he knows no one else lives here. He’s offered a drink and Arthur asks for tea. The alpha has to go to his neighbor, but he procures some chamomile bags and Arthur prays that the hot beverage settles his nerves.

It doesn’t.

Alfred is cautious around him, helping wash him up and taking care of him and Arthur finds the question rises to his lips before he can really think it through:

"Why are you doing all of this?"

Alfred’s quiet and he can hear the creak of tennis shoes against the kitchen tile as the alpha shifts on his feet and after a long silence he says, “I couldn’t just leave you there like that.”

"You could have and no one would have blamed you." Arthur says.

“ _No_.” The alpha breathes and it sounds sad and strange and Arthur isn’t sure why but he hears the other male pull a chair out and the wood creaks when he sits in it so the furniture is old or second hand, Arthur’s sure. “You’re name’s Arthur, right?”

The omega is instantly suspicious but then he remembers that there’s a band on his wrist that says his name and he curses his own forgetfulness. It was a joke gift from his brother, but he hardly ever gives him gifts and the metal feels cool and reassuring under Arthur’s hand and he enjoys running his fingers over the braille portion of it so it’s always comforted him.

"Yes." Arthur finally says.

The alpha shifts slightly and his scent changes from one masked emotion to the next, like he’s embarrassed and trying to hide it. “… I’ve been watching you.”

At first Arthur’s surprised but then he realizes the glasses and the cane and the dog and suddenly he remembers that even just his going outside must be quite the spectacle. “I see.”

"Sorry." The alpha says quickly, aware of the awkwardness. "I didn’t meant it like— well," and then there’s this fumbling noise, like fingers tapping wood. "This is a really shit time so I’m really sorry, but I’ve just… I  _like_  you. I mean I’ve never talked to you, but I’ve seen you out there. You come by once or twice a week and it’s hard not to notice but… but it’s  _more_ than that.”

Arthur’s completely confused now and a little scared and he knows that that emotion flickers to life in his scent because the chair across the table from him makes a sudden scrape noise just as Alfred sucks in a terse breath.

"Sorry! I’m not a creep, I swear! You’re just— you’re cute. And I’m always happy when I see you while I’m working and… and I saw… I saw the accident and I couldn’t just  _leave_  you like—,”

There are tears in Arthur’s eyes and he feels furious at himself for crying again but it’s too soon and the alpha’s words die in his throat with a little, sharp croak that fills the space where an apology should have been.

"I…" The alpha tries again and Arthur catches sorrow on his scent, real and pained and there, and he looks up even if he can’t see him, alert. "I  _care_  about you, is what I mean— about you and your dog. I really do. And I know what happened and… and I  _know_  I can’t really understand but… I want to help you in any way I can.  _If_  I can. I always see you alone—without other people, I mean—and— and I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

Arthur’s crying before he can help it because something in him snaps and this day has been too much for him, really, but there’s pain and relief and he accepts it when the stranger guides him to a sofa and sets him down and holds him until he feels better and even though he knows this might all be a ruse he can’t help but fall into it head first because he’s broken and someone is actually, really _trying_  to put the pieces back together.

Lolly is dead and it takes Arthur four full months to finally trust Alfred enough to allow him to court him.

They’re mated no more than a year later and Arthur’s grateful—oh so very grateful—when Alfred understands his world and how very narrow it is, because the alpha never complains when every Sunday he accompanies him to his beloved dog’s physical grave, a little monument in a pet cemetery that Alfred actually insisted upon and paid for himself.

He’s grateful— _so grateful_ —to Lolly. And to Alfred.

His world is dark and he lives in shadow, but he fancies those he cherishes are like brilliant little stars that metaphorically light the pitch black, and when he thinks on it like that he  _almost_   feels as though he can see.


	34. USUK Body Worship Smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Body worship, light bondage, and sensory deprivation. - gottahida"

England was one hell of a kinky bastard.

America had always heard that sort of thing in passing and had teased the man himself about it, but somehow a nickname like  _Erotic Ambassador_  didn’t really translate into something solid and real. It seemed more a playful, raunchy joke and not something that was actually, well, _true_.

And even if it was true, that still didn’t give him any idea of what that actually entailed because, when you got right down to it, America was relatively vanilla compared to Europe. His basic understanding of sex was to put piece A into slot B and maybe there might be some rubbing and grinding but really that was the gist of it, right?

Dating England had served as something of a wake up call and there had been multiple incidents where after a ‘session’ he’d find himself in some shock over what it was that he had just partaken in.

Yet he had thought, after a couple years, that he understood the extent of it. Something along the lines of uniforms and being smacked on the ass and, well, that wasn’t really  _that_  kinky was it?

But this?

Oh, this was  _definitely_  a notch higher on the kink ladder. Several, in fact.

_Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you_ …

Christ, maybe he should have gotten the man a gift rather than giving him that slip of paper saying he’d do whatever England wanted in bed. France had the worst suggestions, he’d come to realize.

But he had agreed anyway, in the end, mostly because England had looked so flustered and embarrassed when he finally admitted to what he would like and he had looked up at him with worried, green eyes and America could never say no to that kitten-faced expression of his that bespoke of both hope and fear.

Still, it was an eye opener, that was for sure.

After he had agreed, England had looked so happy America could have cried— or teared up, even. It was that soft sort of giddiness that was rare in the man.

And over something as stupidly simply as being all bound up and serviced.

Well, America had done his research, so it was time to finally begin.

Geez, the things he did for this man…

The whole thing had been relegated to England’s basement, the lower floor more like another room of the house than a storage space. It was carpeted and there were some boxes piled in the corner, but it wasn’t even musty. No, it was too well-kept for that. There was even a couch and an old television and, when asked about it, the man had merely shrugged and said it was useful for certain guests, which he agreed was fair enough.

For now, though, everything had been moved aside, the wide expanse of floor cleared save for a large thin roll of foam that served as some sort of light mattress, so to speak, which was useful against rug burns and the like, he fathomed.

England was kneeling on it, naked as sin, his wrists bound behind his back with some black leather contraption the man had insisted upon. It was gentle, but firm, and it was strange to see the proud nation subdued like that, especially with the blindfold securely covering his eyes, blocking out ever little bit of light or vision. They’d talked about this in some detail, so America knew what was expected of him.

He just hoped he didn’t disappoint.

"You look cozy." He drawled, strangely at ease with the fact that he, himself, was also nude— perhaps because England couldn’t see him.

“ _Quite_.” England replied, but the word sounded agitated.

It was all a play— an  _act_. The other man’s hard cock was a testament to his eagerness. They had safe words. America took a steadying breath.

"I hope you like these arrangements, Erotic Ambassador. Perfect for a man like you right?" He teased lightly, walking around him as England tried to follow where he was with a tilt of his head. Planned or not, he couldn’t just follow a script. That’d be no fun.

"Oh, sod off." England quipped gruffly, but there was something raw and wanting in his voice that left him open.

America stopped in front of him, sifting his hands through the other nation’s hair before tightening his fist in those sandy locks and tugging very lightly, making England gasp. Fuck, he was gorgeous like this, all naked and flushed in anticipation. “You really  _do_  like it, don’t you?” He taunted.

He was immensely pleased when those cheeks turned an embarrassed red. It wasn’t a forced reaction.

"Hmph. Some colonist you are. You ran an entire empire but you’re already leaking precum at the thought of being my little bitch."

England tensed, brow furrowing, but all of this was planned.  _Everything_. Every little detail worked out in advance. So he knew not to think much when the man spat a bitter, “You’re full of yourself!”

Grinning slightly, he dropped to his knees and yanked the Englishman’s cock, watching with satisfaction as the other nation shuddered, a surprised groan on his lips. “No, but  _you_  want to be full of me, don’t you? I’ve seen how you look at me…”

That beautiful pale chest was suddenly announcing the nation’s quick breaths— up, down, up, down, eager,  _needy_.

"At first I thought you were jealous, but you love my body, don’t you—?"

"I don’t—,"

"Liar."

England gritted his teeth, stiff.

"Just admit it— I’m the land of the free and I’ve got all the time in the world tonight. You love it— you’ve _always_  loved it.  _O beautiful for spacious skies and amber waves of grain_ …”

England was pointedly silent, so America took that as his cue to continue. He could see that aroused red spreading to his ears and shoulders…

"You like that I’m bigger than you. You like curling up against me and having to lean up on your toes to kiss me. You like my muscles and my strength and how my cock makes you feel like you’ll be torn in two when I fuck you so hard you wake the neighbors up…"

A breathy, “ _Oh god_ …” fell from England’s lips, his head slightly bowed, his mind likely filled to the brim with images. Had they been visible, America was sure his eyes would have looked positively hypnotized.

"You love my body. Just admit it."

England swallowed.

"Say it. I know you want to."

The man shook his head.

"You love my cock. You want it inside of you right now, don’t you?"

“ _Christ_.” The nation hissed, a wanting curse.

America smiled slightly, thrill in his chest as he ran his fingers over his lover’s cheek, the small stimulation making the man’s breath come quicker. “You want to suck me off.” He said, almost reverently, the softness of his tone surprising even himself. “You want it in your mouth, thick and deep, working me up until I come and then you want to suckle dry all of me—every last drop—just yours, yours,  _yours_ , because that’s what you really want, right? For me to just be yours?”

"Yes,  _oh god_ , please— that’s—,”

He’d broken. America felt his erection throb with guilty delight. “You want it right now?”

England’s nod was clumsy but eager and America stood, the other nation’s head just at level with his cock from the way that he was sitting, straight and anticipatory.

"It’s right in front of your lips, England…" America said, his own breath feeling tight as he watched his lover perk slightly, blinded but wanting.

After a moment’s hesitation the Englishman leaned forward, the tip of it meeting just below his lower lip and leaving a streak of clear fluid across the pale skin. Then those perfect, rose pink lips opened, a cautious tongue tasting the hard flesh with a hopeful caution.

"Don’t be shy." He breathed. "It won’t bite you. It’s what you want, right? The thing that pounds you into the mattress on a regular basis."

That was all the encouragement England needed and within seconds America’s cock was disappearing into that gorgeous mouth, a moan in the owner’s throat as he began to take him, inch by inch, trying to hold all that he could and,  _fuck_ , it was hot and tight and his tongue was twitching beneath it and the slight, experimental sucking was making it hard to think…

Shit, this really  _was_  arousing.

He let his fingers find England’s hair again, tugging lightly, encouraging, a soft, “It’s all yours. All of it. Does it feel good?”

A hum of assent met his ears and he sucked in air between his teeth as his boyfriend began a slow, languid, bob, more for his own pleasure than for America’s, studying every ridge, memorizing the feeling of it in his darkened world, arms bound tightly behind his back so it was all he could do to suck and run his tongue over the head’s ridge, a soft gasp or moan muffled by the girth of it.

It was so sincere that America was having trouble not sinking into all of this head first. He wanted to call England beautiful— to praise and coddle  _his_  body…

Yet that had come to be the norm in their sex life.

And this brilliant, wonderful  _opposite_  had been England’s request.

"Your mouth feels so good." America told him, feeling heated and dizzied. "You like that, huh? Making me feel good."

A deep hum told him yes and sent pleasant little reverberations through his length.

“ _Make me feel good_ , England. Only you can, you know. Only you know me like this.”

Something about that apparently inspired the kneeling man because all of a sudden his methodical mapping turned into a fire of movement and muffled moans, England reacting as though his cock was not in his mouth but his ass, as though the pleasurable oral friction were as similarly sensitive as anal, and it was all America could do to keep his head.

To see him like this, eager, lips kiss flushed from sheathing his erection, mouth full, gagged on his cock and bound and sucking and in and out like a piston,  _fuck_ , they’d done blow jobs before but nothing like this— _never like this_. America’s hands perched in his boyfriend’s hair, almost as though to draw him closer although he was careful not to push him too far, but, shit, he really  _was_  deep throating him now and, god, did that man have no fucking gag reflex or what—?

"E- England—  _fuck_ , England if you keep this up— I’ll—,”

The motions only became more enthusiastic at that and it was all he could take.

"Oh god,  _I’m_ —,”

That was it. A strangled moan left his lips—nearly cried—the assault never ceasing for a moment as his cock twitched with each wave of feeling, the oversensitive flesh overwhelmed by continual stimulation as England sucked, almost desperate, for his seed, a line of milky saliva sluggishly dripping from a corner of his mouth as he drank it down like a god’s nectar.

When America pulled out the man was panting for air, a lewd picture of submission and satisfaction, his lips so red America couldn’t help but kneel down and kiss him, fluids or not, the bitter tang of his mouth worth the way England fell into it with blind enthusiasm, so sex wound he seemed practically mindless with desperate need.

Breaking away, America grinned and nuzzled the side of his flushed cheek. “That was good?”

“ _Perfect_.” England managed, sounding strained. “ _Bloody perfect_.”

"Great." America laughed, pressing England to lie on his back despite the bindings— they’d tested it in advance and the other man had insisted that this sort of position would be fine. He likely hadn’t expected it to be used this soon, however, a soft noise of surprise leaving him as he was guided to lie down.

"Wha—?"

America grabbed his leaking erection, making the other man stop with an arched hiss of air. “England?”

"Y- yes."

He grinned down at the man, raking his eyes over that lean, soft, lightly scarred body. “I’m gonna make you come so hard you won’t even be able to move.”

“ _Fuck_.” His boyfriend breathed appreciatively.

It was late but, “Happy birthday, England.”

"Of course." He said, amusement and arousal thick in his words. "I don’t even like my birthday, but at this rate I’ll gladly have another one next year."

America simply laughed at that before dropping down to take that dripping, red raw length into his mouth with vigor.

England was one hell of a kinky bastard, but America had to admit that he loved him all the more for it.


	35. USUK Love Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For the prompts, would you be able to do a fic based on a video called "[Love Language [USxUK Animatic]](http://youtu.be/qTGu_LnYzTU)" on YouTube? - ask-the-beast-arthur"
> 
> Watch the video first if you are going to, as otherwise the story will spoil important plot points. ovo

When he wore headphones, Arthur could pretend that he was normal.

He knew, in theory, what the device was  _supposed_  to do. The little buds produced sound right in your ear, likely music, and when you were wearing them it was commonly understood that you would be unable to hear the things around you for the noise.

People accepted these circumstances with relative ease. Their lips would move and all it would take is a gesture upwards to his ear where the black cord curled down and over his shoulder, and the stranger would look at him with surprise, or confusion, and then let him alone.

Sometimes they thought he was being rude, but he preferred that over the expression of pity he would receive when moving his hands in an intricate dance of motion and language that only a few knew.

He was deaf, but the world didn’t need to know that.

He had been deaf all his life and yet lip reading was a skill that he had never developed if only because it required spending an uncomfortable amount of time staring at strangers’ lips. Even if he had attempted to master this, he would never really know what the noises they made sounded like, so replicating them would have been impossible. Yet he could read books, watch television, or go where he liked, and so he fancied he didn’t lack all that much in this world.

He liked fantasy and romance and dreams and so there was perhaps the smallest pang in him at the lack of proper companionship. He had friends who were like him, silent signalers, their language as genuine as anyone else’s, and for that he was grateful, but dating was not something he indulged in if only because his abilities limited his selection and his attitude seemed to narrow it down into a fine point of nothingness.

Who would tolerate a lover who would sign emphatically for twenty minutes straight in a irritated rut if he ran out of his morning tea?

Let alone one with absolutely no romantic experience?

So he contented himself to be lonely, his main form of interaction an overly large cat whom would bodily wake him and didn’t care if he signed at it with exasperation because it felt good to move his hands at something that understood him just as well as it understood anyone else.

In general, it felt good to just talk to  _someone_  who seemed interested in listening.

His life wasn’t busy, but it wasn’t devoid of things to do. He took specialized classes and had a minimum wage job and in his free time he would write or draw or embroider, savoring forms of expression that didn’t require sound. He thought of this a good life—a lonely one, but a good one.

Some afternoons, before he went home and worked on his assignments for class, he would sit in the park and draw for an hour or so, letting the sun soak into his skin through the sparse shade of the thickly branched trees. It always felt uniquely inspiring to feel the shift of air against his skin, to watch the flowers dance and sway, and to note the passing of the clouds.

He would dream, sometimes, that maybe this was the beauty of music.

He had always wanted to experience music. It sounded fantastic. Online he’d see people rave about a band or a vocalist and it made him almost envious to see people brandishing brilliantly colored guitars, their hands working the cords in a way he could only imagine sounded magnificent.

It had been a strange, tired day when he had looked up from his sketchbook, struck suddenly by the idea that the swelling in his chest at the sight before him might have been close, if only in feeling, to the concept of song.

Since then he had come back almost religiously, the ear buds taking on renewed meaning, the silent symphony of motion soothing him as though the plants and sky were signing to each other and he simply didn’t understand the language. There was no video or book that could compare.

So he would draw and ‘listen’ to his ‘music’.

This pattern was habit after a few months, deeply ingrained as need. Spring had given way to summer and the plants had begun to play a different genre that he found himself thoroughly enjoying. The blooms were bright and the trees were flush with foliage.

His life suddenly seemed so perfect and simple.

And then, one day, a stranger took the seat beside him and it all became… complicated suddenly.

At first he hadn’t thought too much of it. He was drawing and the stranger was reading, and that was, well,  _that_. It was not uncomfortable, but the way the other glanced at him began to distract him if only just, his thoughts turning from the melody of the earth to the body that took residence beside his.

He didn’t want to be reminded again that he wasn’t…  _normal_. The song of the grass and the skies could trick him, but the blatant glances and gestures and the movement of lips brought him back to the world which  _was_  and he allowed the stranger to borrow his pen a moment, almost relieved when it was returned. Perhaps that had been all it was…

He went home that afternoon strangely restless, musing on the incident for far longer than it warranted, a heaviness in his chest at the fact that the handsome guy had smiled at him, all cheer and brightness, like his song—blue skies and glimmering sun.

Eventually he forgot about it.

And  _yet_ …

When he returned to the bench again he was there, as though he had never left, and that jarred something in Arthur that he found strange and new, as though this person was a new fixture in his song, another string of lulling notes, unpredictable and alive. It made his heart pound as he sat next to him. It made it flutter when they traded smiles.

In his peripheral vision he saw those lips move and he gestured up to his ear buds as he always did, knowing he’d discouraged him thoroughly. He would leave and Arthur would continue his art and his song, the music quieter.

And yet he… didn’t.

A note.

Words on a little square of a paper, a stack of post-its sitting invitingly next to it, as though this stranger wouldn’t be dissuaded from something as simple as a lack of speech. His chest ached at the kindness of such a gesture, no matter how oblivious, and he smiled despite himself.

_'WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO?'_

No one had ever asked him that before. Not really. Not in a way he could understand.

How on earth could he  _answer_  that?

_'a special song'_

Thus began a very strange conversation, sticky notes tucked onto the park bench, immune to the sway of the breeze as it caught them and made the ends flutter, like a new beat in his song, experimental and strange and exhilarating.

_'CAN I LISTEN TO IT?'_

_'no, I'm embarrassed…'_

They piled higher and higher, the sunshine boy smiling and looking pleased every time he placed another one down, his own heart beating like a rabbit’s might as he waited for a response and tried to distract himself with his sketch book.

This was…  _feeling_. A movement of his heart.

He began to love this song.

The stranger he learned was called Alfred asked him for his number, sparing him only a puzzled glanced as Arthur informed him that he didn’t have one. In fact, he thought he was lying.

He  _wasn’t_ , but Arthur didn’t have the heart to inform him just yet why that was. Instead, he offered to return the next day and, to his delight, Alfred accepted the invitation to meet once more.

The bus was late but as he approached the bench he could feel the symphony swelling inside of him as he placed a note on Alfred’s paper in greeting, lightly rebuked in return for his tardiness.

It devolved from there, playful and light and… and  _something else_. Giddy. A jump to everything that made him breathe a soft, nearly silent laugh that he couldn’t hear— but, oh, could he  _feel_  it.

And then it all crashed down upon him when Alfred leaned over and kissed his cheek fondly, the gesture sending a wash of emotion through his body.

… but more than anything he felt _fear_.

His world was silent. He had tricked Alfred willingly, leading him along as though that weren’t the case. The foundation for their interaction was a lie and once he knew he would…

… he would _leave_ , wouldn’t he?

They had met only a handful of times.

There was nothing binding Alfred to him other than the expectation that he was as the other boy was.

His heart wrenched at the realization that this had really all been doomed from the start, but…

How could he lie any longer to the person whom had brought him the greatest feeling in the world?

He had to force his hand steady as he wrote,  _'would you like to listen to my song…?'_

This was the end and the beginning. Risk like he had never known before. He braced himself for tragedy.

Alfred looked positively thrilled, gently taking the ear buds from his hands and adjusting them in his ears with an expectant expression on his lovely face.

Arthur wondered for a brief moment if it was possible for Alfred to hear his silent song of feeling.

He waited for the final blow to their merriment, terrified and anticipatory all at once.

The look of confusion, his mouth moving to form words Arthur couldn’t hear, was all the reaction he needed, the truth not yet dawning on his new friend—his new  _possibly something else_.

Swallowing, he rose his hand, fingers dancing to the song that existed only in his chest, the beat of a heart so quick the tempo felt like pain. An apology of sorts that Alfred couldn’t read, as though this were the barrier between them—as though he were making the other boy realize how it had been there all along, invisible to him.

He felt his own eyes prick with tears and never had he wished more for this glass wall of silence to disappear.

The note placed before him startled him.

Written in Alfred’s signature block lettering:

'YOU'RE STILL BEAUTIFUL.'

… and a heart.

He wasn’t sure exactly what it was that shattered in that moment.

His heart? His song? Or the barrier of difference that he had become so very accustomed to?

He broke down then and there.

… but it was alright, really.

Alfred stayed by his side regardless.

For the first time in his life, Arthur’s world swelled with music without the aid of headphones.

He cried harder when he realized it was a song he had never needed sound to hear in the first place.


	36. USUK Collaring Ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I would like to see some sort of collaring ceremony between Dom!Alfred and Sub!Arthur. I don't mind omegaverse, nationverse, human, or any verse you have in mind. - darkfenrir"
> 
> So this is a little romance story revolving around heavy dominant and submissive themes as a lifestyle choice [not just a sexual indulgence] with an omegaverse twist. The information presented is loosely based on real D/S relationships, but shouldn't be used as a resource or guide. The genre is mostly fluff.

In this day and age, a traditionalist omega was a rare thing, but Arthur wouldn’t have been Arthur if he didn’t have his own little book of peculiarities.

It had started young, when they were merely children, before puberty had really set into motion the differences between their types, when sleepovers were innocent, playful things as long as there was a dollop of good ol’ parental supervision. Arthur had said, staring up at the bright white-green constellations stuck to Alfred’s bedroom ceiling, words sealed by the secrecy of night, that his uncle had had a collaring ceremony.

Being only nine and a half, Alfred hadn’t been certain as to why this was being brought up, but the omega turned in his sleeping bag, brilliant eyes glowing in the darkened room, and continued on to say:

"I want to have one of those some day."

That had been the first time Alfred had realized that Arthur was…  _different_.

It was as natural as it was contradictory, but as the years passed the alpha realized that his omega best friend was a little odd in the head. They had bickered and fought over the matter, Alfred’s lack of understanding warring with Arthur’s stubbornness. He simply didn’t understand how an omega in the modern world could wish to be, well…

 _Submissive_.

Or rather,  _a_  submissive. Someone who relinquished themselves to the hand of a dominant. It was an archaic practice, albeit it was certainly alive today, particularly in Europe, and he just couldn’t see the appeal of it, really. How on earth could someone as stubborn and bull-headed and aggressive as Arthur wish to pursue such a debasing role?

He just didn’t understand.

And then, when they grew just that much older, their prepubescent years melting into mid-teens and then, soon enough, that of young adults…

He sort of began to realize several things.

Having poked around some guides regarding dominants and submissives, a feeling stirred in him that he couldn’t quite control. It was fascination coupled with desire, heated and satisfying, and it pooled in him in the form of need and interest. Yet it generated itself openly as fear.

Arthur wanted a hand to guide his leash and, having snubbed half of their graduating class with his disinterest, Alfred began to feel…  _worry_.

It was a big decision. Monumental, even. And despite the years, Arthur’s resolution never wavered. Not even for a single day.

He wanted to be collared.

And Alfred couldn’t help but feel a gnawing dread at the idea of  _someone else_  having him like that.

It took him nearly a year to realize that that was because  _he_  wanted to have him like that.

The confession had come suddenly and without warning and, even to this day, Alfred could remember how those green eyes had looked up at him, wide and hopeful, emotions he couldn’t read dancing in them at the sudden declaration.

"I want to be your dominant, Arthur. I love you."

The omega had smiled, tentative at first, asking politely if he really,  _truly_  knew what he was saying. Asking that he not say such things just to appease or appeal to him.

There was a sharpness to the slimmer boy’s words as he told Alfred that, unless he had a vested interest in this, it would never work.

The books had been quite clear: when your omega spoke poorly of your character, he or she was to be punished.

He was almost giddy at the realization that this was a test, letting instinct override reason for one brief moment as his hand shot out to grip the back of Arthur’s neck in a sudden hold, fingers pressing in just enough to make it painful.

The omega went decidedly relaxed in his grip, a pale swath of neck bared to him, the faintest of pleased smiles teasing Arthur’s lips. When Alfred had released him, the alpha had almost been afraid of this act of dominance, having been told time and time again that such things were barbaric and old-fashioned and humanity had moved beyond it all.

Yet the omega had dipped down to one knee, almost as though to declare his fealty, his scent a mixture of giddiness and arousal as he said, “I have harbored feelings for you for a long time, Alfred. It would please me to be your submissive.”

And somehow, just like that, they began dating and the world didn’t fall apart.

Of course, having a relationship like this in the modern era left them open to criticism, but as they both felt out their roles, trying for the first time things that they had only really known about through books, Alfred found it all came easily to him.

He had been so worried that this was a passing fancy— that one day he would wake up and no longer wish to participate in this. He feared himself a farce and yet…

Instead he enjoyed it.

 _Immensely_.

He relished the control and the power and the trust Arthur had in him, that he would do whatever was asked of him no matter how big or how small. It was exhilarating and frightening all at once, because being a dominant meant his submissive’s life was in his hands, well and truly.

Arthur taught him how to never feel guilty.

Arthur taught him how to embrace his own urges.

Arthur taught him how to explore this base side of himself, aggressive and charismatic and leading, instinctive and not all at once.

By the end of high school they were dedicated to each other, inseparable at times, red lines of teeth markings proudly etched into the back of his omega’s neck like a mating bite, shameless. Arthur practically glowed with pride.

The ceremony came shortly after their graduation.

They had lost friends along the way, those whom were unable to understand them slowly distancing themselves. Yet they had gained as well, many a loyal soul who saw what they had for what it was—

Love. Their own, unique blend of love.

And so the ceremony was small, but intimate, ten people sitting formally in the rented room in their best suits and gowns, treating the event like one would a wedding, as was requested. Alfred stood just outside, confident but nervous, eager and enthralled and so very many other things. They had waited for this day for so long and the leather band felt strangely light in his hands. It was sturdy, meant to claim his submissive as his. It would be a stronger symbol than even the mating bite.

Arthur would wear it wherever he went.

Alfred knew he would gladly do so with pride.

He could hear words spoken in the other room, too low and soft for him to make out, and then the door was opened and he walked inside.

Arthur looked gorgeous.

Well, to be fair, he  _always_  looked gorgeous, but there was something especially thrilling about the suit of pure white, more elegant than gaudy, hugging his frame like tailored perfection, the color representing his devout loyalty and dedication as he gave all of his control to Alfred’s crisp black.

Words were spoken on their behalf—

Arthur, an omega true, compliant and willing, benevolent with the conviction to follow Alfred to the world’s end.

Alfred, an alpha true, dominant and caring, willing to lead Arthur’s leash with a steady hand and a dedicated heart.

He asked for Arthur’s neck and his mate-to-be obediently bared it, the black band affixed just so, the color dark against his pale neck, his emerald eyes aglow as he handed Alfred his leash, an object more symbolic than useful as he affixed it to the collar

It represented the omega’s full consent to transmit power to the alpha. It felt warm and heavy in his hand.

Alfred kissed the soft of Arthur’s hair and the ceremony was over.

A chaste act, as was decided between them.

Everyone rushed to congratulate them— or rather,  _him_ , Alfred noted fondly. They had been given strict instruction regarding this ceremony and not a one was to speak to Arthur directly for the time being.

Alfred accepted their words, shaking hands and returning hugs, and, as the procession died down, he leaned over slightly to thread his fingers with Arthur’s, squeezing them lightly.

"Happy?" Alfred murmured just to him, his chest swelling with affection, the acknowledgement giving his omega permission to speak.

Arthur squeezed his hand back, the action only a fraction as firm as Alfred’s had been as the omega nodded, teary-eyed and emotional as he said,

"I wished for this upon a glow-in-the-dark star, Alfred. I couldn’t be happier."

Alfred didn’t resist the urge to pick him up and spin him, the giddiness of the day too much for either of them as Arthur clung to him with a shriek of surprised laughter, the serious, ceremonial mood thoroughly broken.

He was the alpha and the dominant and this was his ceremony and the way Arthur hugged him like his life depended on it was worth the mirthful stares and the not-so-subtle picture taking.

All he felt was love.


	37. USUK Omegaverse Smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "USUK omegaverse smut? - seductively-twerking"

A bet was a bet, England…

America wasn’t entirely sure when or how his relationship with his omega ex guardian had come about, but it had, and in that time he had learned a lot about the other man. Namely that a stiff upper lip wasn’t just a saying, but something ingrained so deeply that it was almost terrifying in its thoroughness. It was that kind of guarded reservation that really made England, well… _England_.

The problem, really, was that the omega was silent in bed and it was almost disturbing at times.

America had always thought omegas were loud and vocal and wanton and, well, England wasn’t like that at all. He was reserved and proper and yeah, okay, he’d spread himself out—presenting in a way that made America jump him then and there—but the noise issue was something of an anomaly. In every other way he was your typical omega, attitude aside, but that  _one_ thing…

That one thing was new and different and wholly unexpected.

Between drinks and some mutual bickering and a jab here and there about their sex life, their conversation somehow escalated into insults and challenges…

The bet had been born.

Orgasm denial, thick and wanting. It was a simple plan. An elegant one, even. Sure, they needed to buy a few supplies for it to work, but England had openly accepted the challenge. Kinky bastard was probably excited about it, even.

"I bet you’re noisy once you get desperate enough."

A scoff. “ _Unlikely_.”

"No, really. I bet you’d whine and beg and claw for my cock and then, when you got it, you’d just fall to pieces."

"You _really_ think that, do you?"

"Yeah."

"You’re on then. What happens if I win?"

A moment’s thought. “Well… I’ll do whatever you want. Sexually.”

"Oh? And if you win?"

“ _You’ll_  do whatever  _I_  want sexually.”

"Within reason, of course?"

"Within reason."

"… Alright, then. I’ll accept the terms of your little bet."

"Awesome."

The results so far were absolutely fantastic.

It was two days in and England smelled so heavy with arousal that it was almost as potent as heat, albeit not nearly so unresistible.

The omega was sitting across from him at the Englishman’s dinner table, quietly, almost absent-mindedly, cutting free a bit of chicken and placing the bite in his mouth, chewing slowly, eyes glazed over at nothing in particular, face a deep, red flush.

The low, barely audible buzz of a vibrator was the only other noise in the room aside from the clatter of cutlery against tempered glass.

"England?"

The omega looked up, eyes focusing on him like a hawk might a mouse it wanted to eat. “Erm… yes?”

"Do you want me to fuck you?" America asked, his tone so casual it was almost cruel.

England sucked in a sudden breath, a look of discomfort and unadulterated need nesting on his features. “…  _No_.” He managed to say.

"Are you sure? Aren’t you soaked through by now?" The alpha prodded, delight in his chest at the way his lover squirmed. They’d realized quickly that the omega’s natural lubricant didn’t stop its production as long as there was stimulation, resulting in some hydration issues they’d corrected day one.

"I am  _fine_ , America.” England said, looking vaguely annoyed, although the expression lost all its power when his face was so very,  _very_  red.

The alpha shrugged. “Alright, if you say so.”

England was stronger than he had first anticipated.

It was going to take a lot more to break him.

Luckily, he’d  _brought along_  a lot more, just in case something like this happened.

The next day the vibrator was turned up a notch, yet England remained strong even if he’d begun to pant from time to time, a warm, mindless fog of desire on his lips.

It was time to escalate things a bit.

Day four was the day that America would finally break England.

All it had taken was some bondage, the egg vibrator, a penis ring, a blindfold, and one of his used dress shirts.

With that set up, America camped in the living room, distracting himself from the omega upstairs with a video game or two. After three hours he finally ventured forth to check on him.

He found England a mess.

His lover was lying on the bed where he’d been left hours prior, wrists restrained up over his head to the poles of the bed frame, breath coming in soft, desperate gasps, face flushed and wet around the blindfold with what were probably tears, naked but for the open dress shirt clinging to his sweat drenched body which smelled heavily of alpha, the vibrator buzzing on at half power in his ass, and his smaller length red and leaking and kept hard via the power of a little rubber ring.

The spot beneath him was drenched with omega fluids, the bedding fabric darker and telltale.

The man tensed at his opening the door, body rigid and alert as America padded across the carpet. At first the alpha regarded him with concern, running the pad of his finger over the omega’s cheek. “You alright?”

England nodded shortly. This question wasn’t about winning or losing— the game wasn’t fun if someone got hurt, after all.

Reassured, America kissed him and the omega practically melted into it, squirming in his binds at the way the alpha’s tongue dominated his mouth.

Pulling away, he was graced with just the faintest of a noise…

Was that—

_Was that a whine?_

"England…" America said, voice deep and husky in the way he knew the other man loved, teasing the blindfolded omega by running a finger over a sensitive nipple and watching his fellow nation arch and writhe into the touch. "How do you feel?"

The omega swallowed, struggling for words a moment before, “How… How do you  _think_  I feel?”

"Do you want me to make you feel all better?" The alpha pressed, climbing onto the bed with him, aware of the heat-like slick that soaked into his jeans as he hovered over England, straddling him without touching him.

The omega was silent.

"I’ll make you feel all better, sweetheart." He said, softer this time, as though dealing with a scared rabbit and not a wet and horny boyfriend. "You just have to do one little thing, alright? Just one thing and I’ll take good care of you."

He knew he had England’s full attention, muscles below both tense and relaxing as the blindfolded man regarded him with interest. “… What?”

"Beg for me." America told him gently. "Beg for me to fuck you— to touch you— to make you come so hard you sleep for twelve hours straight. Let every noise in you come naturally. Don’t hold anything back. No one’s here to see you— it’s just me. I want to hear your beautiful voice, okay? And then I’ll make you feel really good in return."

He wasn’t sure that this was going to work at all. It was a shot in the dark, really— the idea that England was so damn quiet because he was _self-conscious_. If it was just his natural reaction then America would lose here and now and,  _fuck_ , he’d accept that and let the poor guy go, but if he was right…

If England really had it in him, he’d show it.

The omega’s mouth opened, an answer on his lips that America tensed in anticipation of. Shakily, his lover murmured an embarrassed, “O- okay… Okay…”

The alpha smiled to himself and ran his fingers along England’s stomach, pulling the open sides of the shirt back to glance the pads along his waist. “What do you want, then?”

"I- I…" The omega swallowed, clearly nervous in a way America had never seen or heard before. "I want your… cock." He said, almost as though the words didn’t make sense to his own lips. It was dry and comical.

There were many ways to take this, but, since England hadn’t specified, America grinned a little to himself as he undid the bindings, the omega slightly shaky as the cuffs were removed. So, too, went the blindfold, but not the rest— not yet.

The omega was malleable and pliant and it was almost effortless to guide him forward, curious wet-green eyes blinking at him in the dim lighting of the room, understanding in them as his head was nudged towards the bulge in the alpha’s pants.

This wasn’t what England had  _meant_ , but that didn’t mean he wasn’t eager all the same as smaller fingers worked open the button and zipper, freeing America’s erection with reverence before greedily taking the length of it into his mouth.

The vibrator buzzed away happily in the background, the noise louder now that the omega’s bare ass was propped up in the air.

America swallowed, digging his fingers roughly into the other nation’s hair as pleasure drove home in him, his own arousal long worked up to the point of pain just by being around England. “You like that, huh?” He asked, breathless. “Let me hear how much.”

Silence.

Well that just wouldn’t do. America tugged his cock free of the omega’s mouth and England gave a soft, startled cry of indignance and want.

_Oh_.

That noise was better than caramelized sugar, so raw and real he felt the burn in him despite his amusement at how very startled England appeared by his own actions.

"See…" He hummed. "That wasn’t so hard."

So he  _did_  have it in him then.

"I’ll let you have it again if you let me know how good it tastes. Just don’t hold anything back, okay? Just lose yourself in it…" He coaxed, releasing his grip on the other nation as the omega regained his bearings and went for his slicked length once more, this time a bit more slowly.

Those kiss flushed lips parted, the hardened flesh disappearing inch by inch as though a savored treat, taken as deeply as it could go before England ran his tongue along it, no doubt tasting the thick, heady flavor of an alpha. Those light eyelashes fluttered just so, coming to rest against the pink tint of a cheek.

“ _Mmnh_ …” The omega moaned against him, so soft and delicate and sexual all at once.

America felt his throat go tight, unable to believe there was any way such a thing could have been faked. “You’re gorgeous.” He murmured, running his fingers through the other nation’s soft, wild locks. “Your voice is beautiful, you know that? I want to hear it again.” He urged.

Was this even a bet anymore? Was there even anything to prove? The way dark emerald glimmered up at him a moment, dazed and studying, made his chest coil with need.

Then England moved again, tasting him with vigor, tongue lapping at the leaking slit of his head as a soft sigh of pleasure escaped the omega before he suckled at it gently, driving America to madness.

He dragged the other man up into a hard kiss, gratified by the mewl he made against his lips as his mouth was temporarily dominated. It was enough to make America pull back to look at him.

"You’re not faking this, right?" He asked, eyes searching.

England looked completely startled, blinking owlish and confused, deep green clouded. “I- I— what—?”

"The noises." America explained.

The omega shook his head, breathless. “I didn’t want to lose.” He admitted slowly. “But I  _can’t_  be quiet when you keep— keep  _saying things_ , I— I don’t know why. I just need you so badly. I can’t— I can’t…” The other nation’s voice cracked as tears welled up.

"Oh no, c’mere, I’ll take care of you, alright? No more silly bet for now." He murmured, easing England down against the bed as deft fingers pulled free the vibrating egg, gently extracting the control from where it was taped to the omega’s thigh and turning it off.

His lover was breathing sad, exhausted little gasps against the bedspread, electric with lust and tired all the same. “ _Please_ …” He whispered. “You wanted me to beg and now I am.  _I need you_ — really. God, these last few days have been some of the worst of my life—and maybe some of the best—but now I just want you to fuck me until I scream, okay?”

Well, America certainly didn’t need to be told twice.

"Yeah, of course." The alpha murmured, voice low as he gripped England’s thighs, legs coming apart with ease. He was so damn wet….

"J- just put it in already." The omega pleaded, spreading himself even further in invitation. " _Please_.”

Pants only halfway down his own legs, America pulled England to him, in one fluid motion spearing him to the quick. The omega’s body fluttered and tightened around him all at once.

And from England’s throat bubbled a most glorious moan.

Self-control was something neither of them could have claimed to have in that moment as things devolved into frenzy, both worked up from the days before as America pistoned into the omega with almost mechanical consistency, each rough jerk cutting the other nation straight to the core.

At first England had tried to remain silent, muffled gasps and groans smothered behind closed lips, but eventually it became too much for him to care about anymore as a slight shift had America hitting something inside of him that very well made him  _scream_ , if only because of its heightened sensitivity.

There were tears and sweat and England was crying as his alpha pleasured him, breathless, desperate words choked and strangled as he begged, “ _Touch me_ —  _I_ —,”

America did, his hand barely gripping the smaller male’s length before the other nation jerked with a cry, clear, pale fluid spilling all over the omega’s stomach and the alpha’s hand.

England’s walls tightened down on him, sudden and needy and forcing America to orgasm with wet heat and pressure so overwhelming he felt his body attempt to knot before the slight feeling of swelling fell away to nothing, gasping as he pulled free of his lover and collapsed by his side in the afterglow.

For a moment they just stayed there in semi-silence, the only sound their labored breathing, but then America pulled England to his chest, kissing the omega’s sweat-dampened bangs sweetly.

"You’re a git." England groused, too exhausted to do much more than lean comfortably against the alpha, affection and exhaustion heavy in his scent. "I suppose I lose the bet…"

America hummed, nuzzling his forehead, amused as the thickness of a brow tickled his face. “Yeah, you kinda do.”

"God forbid you make me do something worse than that." He groused in return.

"Was it really that bad?"

The omega was quiet a moment, considering this. To America’s surprise, he exhaled a soft chuckle. “No, not _really_. I’ll admit, I was beginning to get concerned that all of this wasn’t very healthy, but it was…  _interesting_.” England mused. “Interesting and… not unsatisfying.”

"Mm, good." America murmured, reassured.

"You have a punishment in mind for losing, don’t you?" The omega asked, voice quieter from the onset of fatigue.

The alpha smiled against his lover’s hair. “Yeah.”

"Are you going to tell me what it is?"

“ _Well_ …” America drawled, pulling him just that much closer. “I think next time we should do something a little differently.”

"Oh?"

"Mhm." The alpha hummed. "You’ll tie  _me_  up… until  _I_  beg.”

England was silent and when America looked down he found incredulous gems peering up at him. “That doesn’t seem like much of a punishment…”

"I never said it was one— you just assumed."

To that the omega laughed, shaking his head. “Fair’s fair, huh? That’s rather honorable of you.”

"Maybe I just thought it looked like fun…"

"I doubt that." England quipped dryly, going silent at the way the alpha’s fingers starting to graze down his hip and side, smoothing languid strokes along the damp skin. America could almost  _feel_  him growing sleepy.

"I want you to ride me— moan for me." America admitted softly, a whisper in the other’s ear as though this were a cherished secret. "But I want you to do it at your own pace, where I can see you. You’re too beautiful to hide from me anymore."

Silence met him and when the alpha glanced at his partner he found the omega’s eyes closed, soft exhales of sleep on his lips.

America just smiled to himself and held England tighter, content to drift off together with soiled blankets and stickied skin.

Now was a time for rest.


	38. USUK Omegaverse Pornstar AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How about something of a pornstar!AU? It could be in any verse, even Omegaverse, actually! And they have really raunchy sex on camera, and afterwards, one of them asks the other one really awkwardly on a date. :) - anonymous"

"God, I hate your stupid fucking face!" Alfred complained loudly, agitated to the gills as a make up artist frantically checked him over for anything she needed to cover.

The other male in the room, an omega, sat prim and proper as a second artist carefully applied foundation to his pale complexion, “Make it natural, make it natural—,” He murmured to her, jerking his head to the side to level the alpha with a glare. “Well, what the bloody hell did you expect? You’re  _new_  in the industry— get over yourself. There are a hundred alphas that could take your place, so go get that little knot of yours buffed and leave me alone.”

Alfred slammed down his so-called script with a yell of frustration and stormed out of the room.

The director grinned upon seeing him, eyeing the professional actor’s nude body with approval before delicately putting forth a lilting, “You seem upset.”

"I can’t work with this guy, Francis!" Alfred complained, not caring if he drew the attention of the entire room. Everyone was used to this sort of thing by now anyway. "He’s completely— completely—,"

"Breathtaking?" Francis tried, if only for the omega’s sake.

"Infuriating!" Alfred finished. "He keeps trying to tell me what to do like I don’t know any better." Huffing, the alpha put on his best British accent, which was to say that it was appallingly poor, " _'Oh, don't lift me like that you tart, who taught you how to have sex? Are you qualified for this job or did you just wander in here? You know I've seen bigger so stop acting like you're the head cock here.'_ — on and on and on—!”

"Yes, I know." The director said, voice heavy with exasperation. "Who do you think has been trying to film you?" Emphasis on trying.

"Yeah, well it would have all been done a lot sooner if it wasn’t for that guy! I’m not sure I can work with him Francis— he’s driving me nuts!"

The French beta winced. “Look, Alfred…” He murmured, pulling him aside and shooing off the curious glances. “Arthur is, well,  _popular_  to say the least.”

Alfred eyed him, suspicious. “How popular?”

"Well, your income reflects just  _how_   popular he is. You are getting paid to make  _him_ look good and you are going to do that or someone else will.” Francis sighed. “We make bank off of that one and the wetter he is for you the more money it’ll put in your pocket. Your brother needs this for his surgery, does he not? I’ve done all I can to help you, so you have to make the rest work yourself.”

With that the director left the alpha, whom had been stunned into contemplative silence.

.

"I’m sorry."

Arthur’s head jerked up to look at him. “I beg your pardon?”

Alfred shifted uncomfortably. “I… I said I’m sorry.” He gestured aimlessly. “About  _us_. About _this_. I was out of line—you’re right. I’m new. I should take your advice.”

The English omega stared at him as though he’d grown a second head, eyes flashing for a sign of a camera or a prank waiting to happen. When he found nothing of suspicion, he made a hesitant, “ _Uh huh_ …” noise.

The alpha controlled the itch to get pissed at the scrutiny, instead swallowing his pride to add, “Let’s do our best today, alright?”

Arthur snuffed. “I do my best _every_  day, lad.”

Alfred was proud of himself for resisting the urge to hit him.

.

"This is horse shit!" Arthur yelled, throwing the script down.

"Now, now…" Francis said, palms up defensively. "I merely thought maybe a change in scene might help you two, ah…  _perform_.”

The omega turned on him, “A change of scene, yes, but artificial heat?  _Really?_ ”

"You’ve done it before." The beta pointed out.

"And it’s bloody terrible! Do you know what those pills do to my body? I bleed for da—,"

“ _La, la, la, la!_  I’m not hearing this!” Alfred sang from a distance away, plugging his ears.

Arthur glowered slightly, but Francis took the opportunity to gently squeeze his shoulder. “You’ll be paid double, you know.” He added quietly. “And since spring is coming up, we need to prepare something like this anyway. You would be getting it out of the way now…”

Arthur sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I suppose…”

"Perhaps it will help with this slump, too?" The director added.

The omega just glared at him.

.

It wasn’t a real heat, so Alfred wasn’t sure why he was having very real feelings about the omega lying on the stage bed, panting and writhing and whining for  _someone_ to fuck him.

Maybe it was the fact that he knew it was  _him_  whom would be claiming him, so the meandering beta cameramen who made his hackles go up were harmless, but, regardless, he still felt distinctly and uncomfortably possessive.

"It is normal."

"What?" Alfred asked, startled by Francis’ sudden presence.

The director laughed slightly. “Your feelings.” He said. “They are normal. It is fine to feel worked up. He is your omega today, after all.”

"Oh, uh… Yeah." Alfred said, swallowing thickly. "Yeah, I guess he is…"

.

Alfred knew what he had to do.

He needed to fuck the faux-heated omega into the next world and then knot him on camera. Of course the other male had a contraceptive barrier, so there was no need to worry about pregnancy, but still, he was fairly certain he hadn’t felt this much pressure in a long,  _long_  time.

And then: lights, camera, action… right?

Despite the heat, there was sanity in Arthur’s eyes and those flickering green gems gave in to the urge to feel lost and needy, playing it up for the camera just slightly as he  _begged_  for Alfred—

— but something in all of this  _was_  real.

And it struck the alpha to the core as he mounted him, inserting himself so deeply inside the omega that he could feel the barrier pressing against the head of his cock, but…

… what was… this  _feeling?_

It was like he was drunk and spiraling down, down,  _down_  into an aggressive, territorial well, his chest flaring with a need to claim and take.

And then the cameras caught everything.

Alfred lost himself entirely, faux-heat or not, pinning the omega down with rough hands and making Arthur emit a very real yelp.

But then they were kissing almost  _feverishly_ , the smaller actor beneath him pressing back just as eagerly as their tongues fought a fake battle—the alpha’s winning, of course—Alfred kissing Arthur well enough to make the omega moan and squirm and buck up against him, wishing the alpha to move.

And move he did.

It wasn’t gentle nor light nor slow but instead an aggressive piston of need and domination that bent the body beneath his into a curled, mewling bow of noise and tears and pleas to keep going,  _oh yes_ , _please_ —  _harder_ —

The cameramen disappeared. The director disappeared.

The only thing that existed was the two of them and their tangled, twisting, sweat-slicked bodies and the lewd slap of flesh against wet skin and jerks and moans.

And then Alfred came and knotted Arthur well enough to make him jerk from both pain and pleasure, body shuddering beneath his in a quivering mess.

The cameras caught everything.

The way he ducked down and tugged that slim body up against his—

— and bit into that creamy neck.

Arthur made a noise between a cry and a gasp, relaxing into whatever was happening like only the love drunk could, accepting it for the moment without thought or care despite the silent murmurs and gasps about the edges of room.

For a minute or so nothing happened as he mindlessly lapped a spot of blood from the omega’s neck, but then Francis was at the bedside, saying  _something_ , and he growled at him, low and feral, making the beta back off as Alfred tossed warning glances around the room.

He was still knotted securely into  _his_  omega, after all— he had to protect him.

And then, it seemed, the worst possible thing that could happen, happened.

Arthur began to  _cry_ , still attached to him, thinner arms hugging his own chest as he exhaled a choked, “Y- you  _marked_  me…”

.

"Arthur, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—,"

The omega whipped around with a look that could kill and Alfred felt sick. “What? you didn’t mean to  _what?_  End my career?”

"Y- No— well, yes, but I mean, I didn’t mean to… to  _mark_  you—,”

“ _Of course you didn’t_.” Arthur said bitterly, looking upset at everything including himself. “No one had checked to see if you had  _any_  experience with heats— this whole sodding thing is a mess and now I—,”

The omega faltered and Alfred couldn’t help but pull him into a firm hug, surprised to find that Arthur gripped him as though his very world was falling apart, which Alfred supposed it was.

He cried again and this time the alpha held him until every last tear had long dried.

.

"My family will want to meet you." Arthur said the next day over coffee, looking as though he hadn’t slept at all.

Alfred, to be fair, didn’t look much better. “They will?”

The other man snorted. “You marked my father’s only little omega. It doesn’t matter if I had a career in porn, you’re still technically a part of my family now and he’ll want to meet you.”

The alpha wondered just how much it would be meeting the man and how much it would be getting his ass handed to him for doing what he had done, but he figured he deserved it either way. Still. “Arthur…?”

"What?" The omega snapped irritably. Definitely not a morning person, then.

"Are you— are you  _sure_  you want to do all this? I mean, there are treatments that can reverse the mark and I don’t want to force you into—,”

"Are you trying to run away from this?" Arthur asked him suddenly, eyes sharp and serious.

Alfred flinched. “What!? No! I just— I mean…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I feel  _horrible_ — I really do. If I could do anything to take it back, I would, because I know what I did— I ruined your life. You had a good career and you could have mated with someone you really liked and now you’ve lost all of that and I—,”

The last thing he expected was for Arthur to pull him into a sudden, rough kiss.

When he was released, he floundered slightly. “W- wha—,”

"Idiot." The omega spat, shaking his head. Then with a smirk he added, "That’s the only good way to shut an alpha up."

Alfred swallowed, feeling off balance.

"You  _marked_  me.” Arthur stated, looking at him critically. “Now you will take responsibility and be my alpha. Questions?”

For a moment Alfred said nothing but then, after a slight hesitation, he found his voice. “Um… Maybe we should…  _date?_  And see where that takes us?”

The omega stared at him for a long moment and the alpha had expected another tongue lashing… so he was surprised when Arthur merely flushed a shy— _shy!?_ —red and fiddled with his cup like a little school girl.

"A- a date—?"

"Yeah." Alfred confirmed, perplexed. "Have you—… Have you ever _been_  on a date before?”

Arthur quickly shook his head, looking less embarrassed by this fact and more enamored with what was to come.

"So you’re a porn star, but you’ve never actually  _had_  a real relationship before—?” The alpha asked, half-laughing and half-incredulous.

This time the omega turned irritated, brow furrowing as his eyes preemptively pooled into venom. “Yes. Is there a  _problem_ —?”

"No! No, I—," Alfred wiped away a tear. Oh god, his eyes were watering. "It’s fine. It’s— it’s more than fine. It’s kind of cute, actually."

He wasn’t sure why he had said that, but Arthur calmed noticeably, relaxing with a pout as he sipped at the hot tea in his paper cup. “Oh…”

The alpha felt himself relaxing too, a genuine smile rising to his lips.

Arthur really _was_  cute.

Perhaps they had started off on the wrong foot, but maybe they could salvage this train wreck.

And maybe, just maybe, they could make something wonderful together.

.

As it turned out, the DVD, _‘A Mark Of Circumstance’_ , sold like fucking hot cakes since,  _apparently_ , filmed porn of a real mating was exceptionally rare, let alone footage with someone as famous as Arthur. Alfred had his own little following as well and, combined, they managed to make more money from it than either would have had the entire year.

Then, just like that, everyone suddenly wanted to see the now mated pair having sex. It became popular because it was, as some said,  _romantic_.

Arthur was largely put off by the whole thing, but he never really complained. Large checks did that to a person.

Yet somehow, despite it all, they eventually found within themselves love for the other. A surprising amount of it, actually.

And now their job was to fuck, frequently and passionately, on camera.

And they were _paid_   to do this.

_Oh_ —

Whoever said you couldn’t mingle business and pleasure?


	39. CANAME Smut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Could you please do either UKUS or CanAme smut? - torasora"

_'Brother dear, that's quite the look on your face…'_

_'Brother dear, what a mean glare…'_

_'Brother dear, do you feel good right now?'_

_'Brother dear…'_

Everyone thinks that Canada is some kind of fucking saint, but it’s complete and utter bullshit.

You know that saying? ‘It’s always the quiet ones?’ Well Canada’s kinda like that. He smiles and he hums and he talks softly and he stammers and he blushes and he curls a lock of hair around his finger like he’s some kind of dainty maiden, but it’s all a lie.

Or, rather, it’s only like half of the goddamn picture—like someone took a photo and ripped it in two. You think you’re seeing one thing but it’s totally different depending on what side you look at it from, because one part of the moon is bright and luminescent and the other part is pitch black, but it’s still the same rock right?

They’re sharing a room at the conference because everyone thinks that they get along _so well_  and, to be honest, that isn’t necessarily untrue, but America knows— America knows that it’s not going to be that easy. You put any other combination of nations together and you expect a fight, right? England and France? Japan and China? Oh, but America and Canada get along  _so well_ , so that’s not a problem.

And it isn’t  _really_  a problem. Maybe he likes to complain more than anything else—maybe he just likes to run his mouth—but for all the people he’s slept with, the only one who’s ever goddamn well topped him has to be this one.

And it’s sick, but he kinda likes it.

And he knows Canada knows. And Canada knows that he knows that he knows. It’s unspoken—one of few things that are—but it’s true. So in the end, who’s  _really_ taking advantage of this situation?

Canada’s fingers are cool as he probes at him, carefully lube-slicked as they glide into his body. He’s gentle and meticulous and thorough, as though performing the act with some kind of pre-determined etiquette. And he’s watching America too, with that mirror face and those dusk purple eyes.

But always, always,  _always_ , without fail, that soft smile turns into a smirk that America has only seen during these acts. It’s so self-assured and confident that it’s startling. This Canada doesn’t stammer and this Canada doesn’t blush and America always spends hours after wondering which the  _real_  Canada is.

But they’re both the same one, like the moon.

A second finger goes in and he scissors America and then the talking starts up, the tone low and sultry like a purr that makes his spine feel electric and his legs feel like putty.

_'Brother dear, can you feel me inside of you…?'_

And he twists his fingers, thrusting them in, sudden and hard, and making America choke on a gasp. It feels like heaven.

_'What a lewd face…'_  Canada chides softly, a ghost’s whisper but he doesn’t care because the comment makes his skin feel hot.

_'You'll never impress England if you look so childish in bed.'_  Canada continues, fingers jerking in and out with rhythm now. He rocks into it.

_'How shameful for you, to be leaking for someone like me…'_  His brother says, murmuring the nearly-bitter words as that other cool hand grips America’s cock, the pad of his thumb smearing pre-cum over the head of his circumcised penis.

That’s another way in which they’re different. Canada’s not circumcised or, as he likes to put it, he’s _intact_ …

_'Is it my face?'_  Canada croons, and now there’re three fingers inside of him. They manage to brush his prostate and he arches.  _'Is that why your ego allows you to be fucked? Because this is your face, right? Because when I bang you over your kitchen table it's really just some sick reflection, isn't it?'_

America doesn’t know what to say, so he just gasps into a moan.

_'You're teary-eyed. How cute.'_  Canada quips, removing his fingers and lining himself up. He’s bigger than America is. Oh,  _god bless their differences_.

His brother doesn’t ask for permission and he feels relief because he doesn’t have to vocalize a thing other than the garbled noise that bubbles up in his throat when his companion pushes in, slow at first, until he’s up to the hilt, and then things quickly spiral from there because America’s self-control is as limited as Canada’s patience for him.

They’re too alike now, bodies bucking into each other, both desperate for different things but quick to reach for it regardless. It feels like he’s drowning, sweat beading thick and hot on his body, matting his hair to his face. He moans loudly and Canada curses, a soft-spoken groan.

Sometimes he wonders if his brother goes so roughly that it hurts on purpose. He wonders if his brother knows that he loves it.

America’s never been alone. He’s never had to be lonely. Canada has always been there.  _Always_. Quiet and pushed off to the side, but always there. Always watching out for him. And this is just another side of him— a side no one else knows. A side that grabs his hair _hard_  and pulls. A side that leaves red nail marks along his back and thighs. He can’t tell if it’s hatred or love or a combination of the two, but this is his. This Canada is America’s and only his.

And then his brother comes hard, bent over him like a bow and holding his legs still with a strength no one else knows he has, pressing into him until his cock stops twitching a stream of possessive semen into America’s body. He’s painted on the inside— claimed where their borders meet.

Pulling out, Canada leans forward and draws him into a rough kiss that, at the very end, turns almost-sweet, if not for the little nip to his lower lip that’ll leave it feeling sensitive for days.

Eyes like a vibrant sunset stare down at him, illuminated only by the bedside lamp.

America’s still hard and Canada smiles at him, the expression almost soft if not for the sharp corners of his smart eyes.

_'Brother dear, I'll make you feel good with this face that you love so much…'_  He murmurs, going down on him with a mouth that isn’t cool like his hands are, but is instead hot, hot— oh, sweet Jesus, _yes_.

Canada’s right.

Canada’s always right.

He  _does_  love that face and that body.

But not because they look like his own.


	40. UKUS Alfred Gets Chickenpox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "UKUS where Al gets chicken pox for the first time please. - thefreakoutsideyourwindow"

"… Chickenpox?"

"Yeah." The voice on the other end of the line whined. "Mom said I’d been vaccinated and stuff but  _apparently_  I wasn’t and now I have to stay home for like another week and—  _holy shit_ , Arthur, do you know how itchy this is!? Because this is literally the  _worst_  thing that has ever happened to me and my mom said she’s gonna tape oven mitts onto my hands if I keep scratching and,  _oh my god_. Everything itches. Even that spot between my balls and my—,”

"Yes, yes! I understand!" Arthur interrupted, cutting Alfred off from launching into what would have surely been a riveting description of the situation.

There was silence on the other end of the line followed by a huff and then a groan. “ _Arthur_ —!” Alfred started up again, saying his name in a way that he had to keep reminding himself was not lewd. “Fix it!”

"I can’t." He told him dryly, rolling his eyes even though his boyfriend couldn’t see him. (Alfred had a horrible influence on him.)

"I’m  _dying_.” The other boy told him with complete seriousness.

Arthur sighed. “You’re not dying, you’re just itchy. Do you want me to bring over some cream when I come by to collect your homework?”

He heard Alfred grumble something about being expected to do homework when he was sick before the boy said, “Wait? Won’t you catch it?”

"Can’t. I’ve actually been vaccinated." Arthur told him triumphantly.

Alfred just made a distressed sound at that and seemed to fall back onto his bed if the muffled  _whumph_  on the other end of the line was any indication.

 

 

Arthur hadn’t expected much when he’d stopped by to visit, a container of soup in one hand and a plastic bag with a bottle of calamine lotion inside in the other. Alfred’s mother had let him in, telling him that she’d be leaving for the evening and to remind her son that there were leftovers in the fridge for whenever he was hungry. Pleasantries aside, he made the voyage up the stairs to his boyfriend’s room.

Alfred was sprawled out over his bed in nothing but his boxers and when Arthur walked in he had only looked up a moment before his head flopped back.

And then he made a sad little noise, his entire body covered in what Arthur thought to be quite humorous pink spots.

Really, they were a little more worrying than funny, given the nature of the problem, but coupled with Alfred’s overly dramatic attitude it made him look silly to say the least.

Arthur attempted to be polite.

"Have you tried using marker to draw the constellations yet?" He asked conversationally, setting the bag and soup down.

Alfred peered up at him, confused. “What?”

"Never mind." Arthur said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "How’s your fever doing?" He asked, leaning over to feel his forehead.

His boyfriend flinched away from his touch.

He apparently didn’t miss the flash of hurt that skittered across Arthur’s face.

"Sorry…" Alfred apologized, looking sheepish. "I’m itchy everywhere and also… I  _know_  you won’t catch it but I still  _feel_  like you will and I don’t want that.”

"I would have caught it already just by walking into this room if I weren’t immune." Arthur told him gently. Or so he believed anyway. He wasn’t very familiar with the ailment but it seemed to spread easily enough.

Alfred looked dubious. “Still. I’d feel bad if you caught it too…”

"I won’t." Arthur reassured him. "Is the itching still bothering you?"

“ _Yeah_.” His boyfriend said emphatically, looking both annoyed and exhausted all at once.

"I brought something that should help with that." Arthur told him, retrieving the bottle of lotion before relocating in Alfred’s delightfully messy, personal bathroom.

Albeit his boyfriend enthusiastically threw himself into his own emotions most days, Arthur couldn’t help but notice how quiet and subdued he was now, sitting meekly and awkwardly on the toilet seat, looking tired and sad. It made his heart ache a little bit and so he took his time with rubbing the lotion onto his skin, hyper aware of the way the boy would twitch with the need to scratch. He was good though, however, and hadn’t yet done anything in his presence, which Arthur personally thought took a commendable amount of self-control.

Finishing, he stepped back, studying the form of his boyfriend, pink spots visible through thick, drying lotion.

Poor thing.

"Sleepy?" Arthur asked quietly, pursing his lips when Alfred shook his head. "How about you lie down and I’ll bring you your laptop? We can watch a movie while you eat the soup I brought you."

His boyfriend perked up a little. “You’re not leaving?”

"I finished all my work last night so that I’d have the whole afternoon off." Arthur told him, smiling as Alfred’s mood noticeably brightened.

Moving back to the bed, Alfred propped up a wall of pillows for the both of them, still insisting on keeping his distance as he sat the laptop on the blankets and leaned back with his knees up and a bowl of Mrs. Kirkland’s homemade chicken noodle soup in his lap.

Arthur politely ignored the comment about how grateful Alfred was that he, himself, hadn’t made her recipe.

Alfred was sick right now.

It was a rare exception.

The movies, too, were a rare exception, although technically he didn’t hate Alfred’s selection really. Normally he might have groused a little more but the boy seemed to really be enjoying himself and he became incredibly enthused and would tell him, _'Watch watch watch!'_  at the good parts and so he decided that he would keep his mouth shut regarding the predictability of the plot and the shallowness of the main character’s love interest. They were always pretty, female, agreeable sidekicks and with Alfred’s little hero fetish it was quite obvious that Arthur himself didn’t fit that kind of role at all.

Still, the special effects were good and the action was passable and before long he found a blond head pillowed on his shoulder as his boyfriend dozed off, his glasses still on, the couple on the screen kissing at the climax of the story.

Arthur sighed and removed his glasses for him, managing to slip them onto the bedside table without moving overly much.

The gesture, however small, only seemed to encourage Alfred to snuggle closer, breathing hot against Arthur’s neck.

Turning slightly, Arthur pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s hair, hitting the pause button on the computer with his foot before pushing it away and coaxing the tired boy to lie down in his bed properly, a pillow beneath his head, before covering him with a blanket.

Cleaning up the room a little, he put away what he could before realizing that he still needed to collect Alfred’s homework. Frowning at the sleeping figure on the bed, he decided that it could probably wait, especially if he told their teachers that he had been too sick to complete it.

Pleased with this decision, he left a little note and a glass of water with some pain killers beside it in case Alfred woke up before turning off the lights and heading home.

Once the sound of the front door closing eased into relative silence, Alfred sat up, grinning.

And that was how he managed to weasel an extra three days to finish his English essay.

It just wasn’t fair to expect a sick person to do homework.


	41. USUK Making Up After a Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "USUK or UKUS where they are fighting over something / someone but end up together anyway. - that-dark-haired-perv"

"England, wait—!" America called after the nation’s back.

The man in question turned on his heel with a scowl, eyes venomous. “What for what? You’ve already said enough. I understand.” He told him, voice stern and clipped. “I’m nothing to you, so just leave me alone.”

America balked. “You know that’s not what I meant—  _wait_ , damn it!”

A hand snagged England’s shoulder and he threw it off, this time livid as he spun to meet apologetic blue eyes. “Get off of me! Don’t touch me!”

He was immune to the flash of hurt on America’s face, shoving aside all thoughts of sympathy. His position was only cemented when the other nation’s expression quickly changed to indignant. “Gee, and here I am trying to be nice!”

"You should have thought of that before you spouted off rubbish to the entire assembly." England bit back caustically, very willing to stand his ground on this one. "I don’t go announcing embarrassing little secrets about  _you_ , do I?”

"I didn’t do it on purpose!" America yelled back defensively, agitated now. How many times did he have to apologize before England just accepted it already? "I wouldn’t have said any of that stuff anyway if France wasn’t being France."

"Yes, blame it on France! It’s all  _his_  fault, isn’t it!?” England spat, bristling at America’s lack of maturity. He sounded like a small child, trying to shift the blame like that.

"Well it is!" America protested.

England turned to walk away again. “Then go cry to France then!” He barked, shoulders high and gait arrogant as he attempted to flee the situation. Any more of this and it was going to break him, he was sure of it. He needed a stiff drink and some time alone.

It seemed America wasn’t about to let him have that, however, because a hand snagged his own and he soon found himself been physically dragged into a side room, his protests falling on deaf ears.

The door slammed behind them and before England could even say another word America began to approach him like some kind of bulky, idiotic predator, and he found himself backing up until his back hit a wall.

America didn’t stop until he had him pinned to the spot, palms flat against the plaster beside each shoulder.

"England, I’m sorry." He said, trying this again, but there was a stubborn look in his eyes that spoke of a lack of sincerity.

"Yes." England retorted dryly. "You’ve said it five times already…"

"I didn’t mean to tell everyone that." America continued, expression softening.

Not one to let go of something just because someone was being cute, England crossed his arms and scowled as he looked off to the side. “Yes.” He said, feeling exasperated now. “ _I know_.”

"I mean, I kind of thought it was important though since they were all talking about vacationing and, I mean… I guess I forgot. I know you told me it was a secret, but…"

England sighed with his whole body, suddenly feeling tired. “Look, America. I get it. I truly do. You’re sorry. You ran your mouth again and this time it was at my expense.” His eyes were hard as he bored into the other nation’s, imploring him to understand. “I don’t  _want_  to forgive you right now. I don’t  _want_  to let go of this so easily when it’s going to follow me around for the rest of my days. I kept that fact about myself a well-guarded secret and you’ve grievously wounded my trust by carelessly sharing it. It is well within my right to hold this against you for however long I like.”

America wilted a little at his speech, almost causing him to feel bad, but then he just frowned as if he couldn’t accept what had been said. “I don’t want you mad at me.” The nation pressed.

"Well I am." England told him, wary, because when America  _decided_  something that usually meant he was about to act on that decision.

"Can I make it up to you somehow?"

"Not right now, no." England said, trying to maintain his irritation in spite of America’s best efforts. It was a little endearing that he was trying so hard to fix things, admittedly.

A frustrated look crossed those Hollywood features before America leaned in and kissed him.

Alright  _that_  was most certainly unfair; he knew how he felt about shows of affection.

It was a small act, just a brush of lips, chaste enough despite their position, but he felt his cheeks flush and his resolve weaken. There wasn’t any ‘them’. They weren’t an item. Yet there had been an incident or two as of late that indicated that they  _could_ be one, if they tried. Just little things. Things that, on their own, could be nothing.

Grouped up, however, they could be  _something_.

"You’re playing dirty…" England muttered leaning back against the wall as he looked down. The soft laugh he received for that didn’t manage to pique his anger, the embers of rage already simmering down into something gentler.

He hated how he was putty in his former colony’s hands, as though just a glance and a smile could bring him to his knees.

A hand came up and pressed some of his hair behind his ear, making his blush deepen.

"England…" America murmured softly, voice a hum of warm kindness that made his chest explode with butterflies. Looking up, the nation was smiling at him.

England tried to scowl but he was almost certain that it came out more like a pout if America’s laughter was any indication.

"I’m really sorry." The man before him repeated delicately, sincere.

Was it any use fighting it at this point?

"It’s fine." England grumbled. He would just have to deal with the rumors and the teasing—stiff upper lip and all that.

"I honestly didn’t mean to tell them that you couldn’t swim—,"

"I said it’s fine!" England snapped, actually scowling now.

America just smiled a little at that. “Hey…” He said, sounding thoughtful. “What if I taught you how?”

England’s mind went blank. “What?”

"I could give you lessons." America reiterated. "You know, in swimming. I’m pretty good at it."

For a moment England considered this.

America teaching him how to swim…

America in swim trunks, in a pool, at his side, touching him and manhandling him and encouraging him. Wet.

England hoped his face wasn’t as red as he feared it might have been, his interest perhaps telltale as he cleared his throat. “That… could be acceptable.” He relented, trying to sound appropriately reluctant about the offer.

America just grinned at him, all bright smile and sun-kissed hair.

Despite it all, a fluttering feeling accompanied the forgiveness stirring in his chest.

He just couldn’t stay mad.


	42. USUK Suspicion of Cheating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Arthur thinks Alfred has a secret lover but he's actually planning a very big surprise for their anniversary. - empressvegah"

Arthur was by no means a fool.

He read magazines and articles online. He did his homework. He didn’t have a high ranking office position for nothing; he knew how to research. And it was almost disgustingly transparent, so much so that Arthur felt properly revolted that Alfred considered him that oblivious.

His husband was cheating on him.

It made his stomach churn with anger and dread, but worse, he felt almost ashamed. _Guilty_ , even. Was he not enough for him anymore? Was he no longer attractive? Alfred had always assured him that he was ‘stunning’, so to speak, but it was dreadfully easy to lie, wasn’t it? And if he  _was_  cheating on him then he’d clearly want to avoid arousing any sort of suspicion.

When he thought it over, the signs were all there, like stars prodded into alignment by wise old deities.

Alfred was coming home later and later, going off somewhere after work and claiming it was just ‘with the guys from the office’ only to return at seven or eight, missing dinner entirely or telling him he’d help with it when he got home.

Alfred was going off somewhere at lunch, too, since they used to meet at a cafe but he’d started erratically texting him to cancel, claiming that ‘something had come up’.

Moreover, they hadn’t slept together in nearly a week and for Alfred’s libido that was highly suspect. He hadn’t even mentioned it at all.

Arthur felt sick.

Nearly ten years of marriage and he had thought things were going alright. They were over the honeymoon stage. They had surpassed the seven year turbulence period. They were nearing on a decade devoted to each other, one which he had felt warmly about, and now…

And now _this_.

It felt like a slap to the face—harsh and cold and awakening. Alfred may have still loved him, but if he was running off with someone else every few days then how strong could his love really be? He didn’t even appear remorseful about it, continuing on with the same cheer he always had, cuddling up to him in bed and teasing him about the singed edges of his cooking.

Alfred had always been so open—so readable.

And now he wasn’t.

Arthur wasn’t even sure he knew who he was anymore because if he was hiding this then what else could he be keeping from him? It wasn’t that unlikely that this went deeper than just a sordid affair. Had there been prior ones? Had Arthur simply been blind to it all along?

Of course these thoughts affected his mood. Why wouldn’t they? Alfred had betrayed his trust. He felt wounded and rightfully so. When the man snuggled up to him in bed and looped his arms around his waist, he stiffened.

Well, Alfred had known him long enough to be able to tell when something was wrong.

"Hey, you okay?" His husband asked. Arthur could see in his mind the innocent, worried frown that was lining his lips.

The concern warmed him, but it also caused a painful twinge to go off in his chest. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly Alfred was alarmed and Arthur wasn’t even really sure what had triggered that but he was sitting up and turning on the bedside lamp. “H- hey. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Oh.

Oh he was crying, that was why.

Alfred reached out to hug him as he sat up and he instinctively shoved him away, guilt washing through him at the hurt expression he received for that before it quickly churned into anger. How  _dare_  his husband make him feel bad for being upset at being cheated on.

"You  _know_   why I’m upset!” Arthur suddenly told him, livid. “You—,” He sucked in a breath. “You’ve been hiding it, but I’m not stupid, Alfred! I know better than that!”

Recognition flashed across the other man’s face and he felt terrible, painful victory. “Wait? You knew?” He balked. “How long?”

Arthur felt his tears quicken at the confirmation. He was shaking now, distraught. If only Alfred could have lied to him then maybe he could have pretended… But that was worse, wasn’t it? “Two weeks.” He warbled.

Alfred frowned a little but then his expression turned both troubled and upset. “I just— okay, so you know but why are you crying? I thought you would have been okay with it…”

He was on his feet in a second, launching himself up out of the bed so quickly he took several blankets with him. “Okay with it!?” He screeched, appalled, gesturing. “Why the bloody hell would you think I would be okay with it! We made vows, Alfred!”

His husband was standing too now, on edge and unnerved as he tried to calm him down. “I know we—  _I know_ , but why— I mean we did this before when you—,”

"Me!?" Arthur yelled. "I have never,  _ever_  cheated on you in my life. How dare you!”

Alfred’s face went blank for a second before shock took hold. “Cheated—? I’m not cheating on you!”

"Yes you are!" Arthur snapped back. "You just admitted it, you bastard!" As his husband approached he tried to hit him but Alfred caught his wrists so he just sagged, a sob in his throat.

"Arthur, babe.  _Sweetheart_. C’mere. I’m  _not_   cheating on you…” Alfred murmured, managing to maneuver him into a hug that Arthur felt ashamed for clinging to. He cried into his husband’s shoulder as a hand stroked his back. “I’ve never cheated on you. Where would you get an idea like that—?”

Arthur surfaced to say, “You were always gone and you were lying about where you were going and—…”

"Honey, I was  _planning a party_.” Alfred said, voice both sympathetic and emphatic. “A  _surprise_  party. For our  _anniversary_.”

Arthur sniffled, tears still trickling down his cheeks. “What?” He said, unable to comprehend this sudden change of events.

Alfred pulled him away to look at his face, wiping away wetness from his cheeks with affectionate fingers. “A surprise party. For us. Ten years is a pretty long time, right? I wanted to make it real special.”

For a moment Arthur just stared at him. “You’re… You’re really not cheating on me?”

"Hell no." Alfred assured, laughing a little. "I  _married_  you. I love you. I would never cheat on you.”

That…

That sounded more reasonable, actually, but Arthur still looked at him, a little suspicious.

"You can prove it?" He asked.

Alfred didn’t even get upset, he just nodded. “Yup! Got emails and receipts and a phone history… I just kept having to run around doing stuff ‘cause I wanted it to be perfect. One day the florist would need me in to verify the type of flowers I wanted and then later I had to talk to some people about, well… surprise stuff…” He trailed off, trying to censor at least a little bit lest there be no _surprise_  left.

Arthur felt numb—happy and sort of ashamed and sort of guilty and a little childish, but generally mostly numb.

But he believed Alfred. He loved Alfred and he trusted Alfred and he believed him. If he said, after all of this, that he wasn’t cheating on him, then he wasn’t, or so Arthur hoped.

He swallowed and nodded. “Okay…”

Alfred guided him back to bed and curled up with him there, stroking his cheek and his shoulder and his side and telling him affectionate things and detailing all of his little plans for that weekend, where they would celebrate their tenth year anniversary at Arthur’s favourite restaurant with his favourite flowers and his favourite wine and then after he had a gift or two for him and how maybe they could go get his best suit refitted because he had put on a little bit of weight over the years…

Aside from that last part, it was all very sweet.

And Arthur was reminded of the fact that, somehow, through every hardship they had faced, they remained together.

He was suddenly extraordinarily grateful for his Alfred.

He had married the best man in the world.


End file.
